#seashore path

[kirtiabsract]

[exxemi]

Natural Stone Pavers - Landscape Photo of a small traditional full sun backyard stone landscaping in summer.

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

The Prince - Chapter Seven

A/N: Hi friends! I can't say it enough, thank you so much for all of your love on this story. I was so worried when I was drafting it that I was writing nothing, so thank you so much for your support! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Like before, please see tag list in comments.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 4.8k Synopsis: As their remaining hope dies out, the reader takes Jeyne's advice.

Warnings: smut!

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

You get on a ship to Dragonstone early the next morning. You don't see Jace before you leave, and you don't even entertain the thought of looking for him.

It’s a two day trip to Dragonstone, and throughout most of the journey you stand against the railing, watching the water crash against the ship over and over. You feel like the water, a little bit. No matter what you do, what actions you take to be careful, it’s hit after hit, to you and those around you.

The trip is a silent one, and when the castle is finally visible, it suddenly dawns on your how alone you'll be here. The castle is mostly abandoned save a few necessary staff. Even the crew that surrounds you now provide some kind of background noise, some escape from inside your head.

The quiet might be a blessing, though, you realize. In the Red Keep, there was always a member of House Targaryen distracting you from your task. After what Jeyne had said about Lord Blacktyde, you needed to finally focus on finding a husband.

The crew lets you off the ship without fuss, dropping your case on the pier next to you. They are on their way to Pentos, and for a moment, you consider running back aboard and going with them. Resettling in a strange country seems easier than navigating through the mess you made here.

The warden is waiting for you at the end of the dock. He greets and leads you towards the castle, saying very little to you on the walk up. As you get closer, you take in the dark castle. It’s not as large as the Red Keep, but the inside is so empty that it might as well be. When you walk inside, your footsteps echo all the way up to your quarters.

You are given a room that looks out onto the bay. Once the door closes behind the warden, you walk out there, letting the cool breeze off the sea fill your lungs. Somehow, the air feels different here.

It’s peaceful here. For a moment you delude yourself that you could hide out here forever. It’s large enough that it would take a little while for anyone to locate you if hidden. But then a cry breaks over the horizon, and you realize why that plan would never work.

A green dragon's silhouette breaks across the horizon. The sight of Vermax does not surprise you. Without realizing it, you knew Jace would follow you. Maybe that's why you had walked out here, you had instinctually known he would be there.

Vermax banks into a landing on the seashore, far down from the dock you arrived at. You watch Jace approach the castle. The wind whips the curls around his face and the cape across his back. The doors to the castle open before he can reach them, sight of his dragon tipping them off as well. The warden greets him, much heartier than he did you.

Jace’s eyes glance up for a minute but do a double take when he sees you watching. He smiles, and the look soothes you.

Moments later, he is at your door. When you don’t answer right away, you hear him laugh.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice warm, “I already saw you, so don’t try to hide.”

“I would never dream of hiding from you, Your Highness,” you say, opening the door for him. His good humor falls just a little bit when you close it behind him.

“I heard what happened,” he says.

“I assumed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” you say, fiddling with a ring on your finger to keep from looking at him. “And besides, it doesn’t matter,” you say with a sigh.

“Why not?”

“Because we knew this was where this path would lead us.”

“Y/N,” he starts with a sigh.

“We knew,” you say quietly, frowning at him. He looks like he wants to say more, but knows that whatever point he'll make is moot.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because it’s my fault we’re in this mess.”

“Jace," you say with a sad laugh, "I kissed you the first time.” His dark eyes meet yours.

“I could have left you alone,” he says seriously.

“Could you have?” you ask, studying his face. “Truly?”

“I could have tried."

“Well, it doesn’t matter now," you say, walking into the room, fiddling with the furniture around you, just to keep your hands busy. Nerves build inside of you as you ask, "What did Baela say?”

“Just that she knew. I didn’t argue with her, I just let her get it out.”

“Was she angry?” you ask, chancing a look back at him. He looks tired, you realize for the first time. You wish you could go to him.

“She was angry about the lying, but Baela thinks like me,” he says slowly, “We don’t have what you and I have. Not even close. I think if she knew how we feel. How we truly feel—”

“She’d give up being queen?” you ask in disbelief.

“She’s one of my closest friends, she wants me to be happy.”

“Regardless,” you say, “This doesn’t lead anywhere else but here. I will never be your queen.”

“I told you I’m trying. With my mother—”

“Even if the queen was okay with it, would the realm be? Would Balea and Rhaena? Would their father?” you ask, eyes wide as you fight off frustrated tears.

“They will all get over it,” he says. “ The realm doesn’t care. Not every Targaryen has married within their family.”

“This argument is useless,” you say, leaning against the table in your room with a sigh. “We are simply out of time and options.”

“If we talk to Baela—”

“Baela would have told you already if she wanted to break your betrothal,” you say. “She doesn’t. And I don’t blame her.” He moves closer, the closest you've been since he arrived. You brush a hand over his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I know that this breaks your heart, like it does my own,” you say softly. Jace’s hand covers yours and kisses your palm.

“We still have now,” he says. You let out a laugh, sniffing back tears.

“How did you even get away?” you ask.

“I’m the Prince of Dragonstone,” he says smugly, “This is my castle, after all.” You laugh gently. After a pause, you stand and wrap your arms around his neck, needing just another second in his. He holds you just as tightly, his hand rubbing smooth circles over your back.

“Thank you for coming,” you whisper.

“Where else would I be?”

You spend most of the day entwined. Neither of you say much, as there isn’t much to say. This fantasy is fast coming to an end.

As the day turns to night and the island cools, you and Jace make a fire in your chambers, and sit close on the couch in the room, wine flowing between the two of you.

“Did Baela say anything to you about what exactly we had done?” he asks, his calloused fingers tracing soft patterns along your wrist. You study his downcast eyes.

“No,” you say, “Nothing specific. Why?”

“When she spoke with me, she alluded to the fact that I had . . . ruined your reputation.”

“Ah,” you say with a nod. Still, his attention is focused on your hands, dancing around each other. “Did you tell her we hadn’t?”

“She didn’t seem to believe me,” he says, “But yes.”

“We know it’s a line we haven’t crossed. If that unburdens our guilty consciences at all.”

“I’m not guilty, Y/N,” he says, “Not really. I’m sorry to have hurt Baela, but my heart never belonged to her. Not in the way it belongs to you now.” You are quiet for a long moment, too long for his thoughts, it seems.

“So, you’ve never thought about it?” he asks, his gaze finally meeting yours. “Ruining yourself. With me,” he adds.

“Of course I’ve thought about it,” you say, smiling at him, “But thinking it and doing it are two very different things.”

“We’ve done other things,” he says. You can hear the strain in his voice. You flip your wrists, playing with the lines of his palm.

“We’ve kissed,” you say. His eyes flick between your eyes and lips. “That act won’t ruin me.”

“Oh no?” he asks, leaning in closer.

“Not more than it already has,” you say, your words on his lips as he kisses you slowly. “Besides,” you say, “It’s not like I haven’t kissed others before.”

“I don’t want to hear about that,” he says, dropping your hand altogether to snake his around your back, closing the minimal gap between the two of you. You curl into his arms as he kisses you again – just as slow, but with more intent, more meaning, behind it. You let him trap you there for a moment longer before breaking away, a hand to his cheek.

“It’s not like you haven’t kissed anyone else,” you say. “You’ve kissed Baela.”

“It’s not the same,” he says lowly.

“Why not?”

“Because I never kissed her like this.” He takes your face in his hands and devastates your mouth with his own. He holds you there while his tongue takes an exploratory, conquering tour of your mouth. You break away with a gasp.

“You still kissed her,” you say.

“Why are we talking about her at all?” he asks with a sigh, running a hand through his unruly hair.

“We’re not,” you say, breaking out of his arms, rising from the chair to refill the wine.

“Right, we were talking about thoughts.”

“Right."

“Tell me about these thoughts of yours,” he says.

“No,” you say with a laugh.

“Why not?” he asks, immediately pulling you closer when you sit down.

“Because I keep those longings locked,” you say.

“In that beautiful mind of yours,” Jace says, smiling as he leans in to kiss your forehead. “Keep those longings anywhere else?” he asks. You let out a breath, smiling at him.

“Here,” you whisper, touching the skin over your racing heart. Jace’s warm eyes are locked on yours as his lips press to your skin. They trail down to your cleavage, leaving soft kisses in a trail.

“Jace,” you say with a sigh.

“Hmm?”

“Thoughts.”

“I’m having a few now," he says.

“Let’s keep them there,” you say, your fingers resting against his temple.

“If they already think we’ve bedded, what’s the harm in actually doing it?” he asks.

“Besides the fact that I would be ruined?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Ruined for who? No one needs to know.”

“Baela and Rhana already think we did, and look how their opinions have changed," you say.

“Your standing with them is the same either way,” he says with a shake of his head, “Whether we do it or not.”

“And what about the man I am to marry?” you ask. Jace’s face falls and he squeezes your hand. “Let’s just stick with thoughts for now,” you say quietly, scooting closer to him.

“What about my thoughts?” he asks. You give him a look and sigh.

“What about your thoughts, Jace?”

“They rarely leave my mind,” he says, looking into your eyes. Just at the intensity in his, you feel your core start to warm. “Especially when I’m in bed, after you’ve left.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re already good at keeping these thoughts in," you say. He rolls his eyes.

“Just because I don’t act on them with you, doesn’t mean I don’t act on them at all,” he says lowly. Your brow scrunches, immediately imagining who he might— “Y/N,” he says, cutting off your train of thought, bringing your gaze to his with a hand to your chin. “I take matters into my own hand.”

“Oh. Oh,” you say, a blush forming on your cheeks.

"Do you ever . . . do anything like that when we part?" he asks. At your intake of breath he smiles. "We don't have to talk about--"

"Yes," you say. His eyes are wide, the tension growing in the silence of the room. "But Jace--"

"I know," he says, a small smile on his face. "Thoughts."

When Jace opens his bedroom door that night, the room behind him is dark, lit only by one candle. He looks tense, his shoulders tight and worry sketched on his brow. He looks as if he needs a release, the same one you desire now, the one that had kept you up.

“Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say. Your eyes glance at his bare chest, and his linger on the thin nightgown you wear.

“What is it?”

"I've been up in my room thinking," you say, making him let out a tut of laughter.

"Sure."

“And I decided I want more than thoughts,” you say breathlessly.

“Oh, thank the gods,” he says, wasting no time to pull you into his room. The door shuts as he presses you up against it, his lips locking onto yours. You moan quietly, the sound muffled in his mouth. He presses his body into yours, making sure you feel how much he has wanted this, needed this.

He drags you into the room, breaking away long enough for you both to catch your breath.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Completely.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“Am I?” you ask. He makes a strangled primal sound, tilting his head.

“Y/N, you have no idea,” he says. You smile at him, before putting a hand around the back of his head, pulling him back to your mouth. Where there was urgency before, now that he knows you want this just as much as he does, his movements slow. His kisses are just as passionate, his mouth practically devouring your own, but he moves as if he’s got all the time in the world.

His hands move down your back, catching in the soft fabric you wear. You arch into him, whispering a soft ‘yes’ to a question he hasn’t yet asked. He pulls at the fabric furtively, gripping your waist tightly as he does. He tugs the dress over your head, messing your hair. As the dress drops to the ground, he watches you with hungry eyes.

You miss the feeling of him, his lips and body upon your own, but the way he watches you, never in your life have you felt so beautiful.

The dress folds into a pile at your feet, and you stand bare before him.

“Y/N,” he strains.

“Jace,” you say, moving closer to kiss him again. He moans into the kiss, the movements becoming needier again as he backs you up to his bed. You fall back on it with a bounce, Jace’s eyes never leaving your body. He smiles down at you, laying prone before him. When your eyes flit to the bulge in his pants, his smile grows.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he says, positioning himself beside you, his body frustratingly not touching yours. He puts a hand on your bare waist, the movement sending chills across your skin. “All I want to do is bury myself into you,” he says, leaning in to kiss your lips softly. They are there for only a moment, and you whimper when he pulls back.

“Why don’t you, then?” you ask.

“Because I want to savor every moment of tonight,” he says, once again kissing you too quickly. He watches your face, the look you give him for keeping you at bay. He grins proudly as he takes your face in his hand and kisses you in the slow, devastating way he knows you want. Instinctively, your naked body turns into his, as you wrap an arm around his neck. Jace’s hands trail down your body, gripping your ass with a squeeze that makes you gasp into his mouth.

“I love you,” he says breathlessly, breaking away and then kisses you again, so you don’t have time to respond. His mouth moves across your jaw, and you are about to tell him how much you love this, how much you love him, but then his mouth closes sweetly on your neck, and you only let out a moan.

Jace smiles as he turns you onto your back again, his body laying over yours to keep you pinned there. His mouth on your neck is delicate, so much so that it ignites every nerve along your body. As he kisses and nips carefully, his tongue dancing along your skin, you arch your back, pressing into him. He laughs at the movement, his hand gripping your hip.

“Jace,” you gasp.

He moves down your body, his hands cupping your breasts, kneading gently. Needing to touch him in any way possible, your hands run through his hair. When he lowers himself further and puts his soft lips on your breast, you grip his hair, tugging slightly. Jace smiles against your skin.

“I love you,” you say on a gasp. His tongue flicks at your nipple as his eyes meet yours. He doesn’t have to say anything, you can see the love in his eyes.

You are a bundle of nerves, tension gathering at your core. You need him now, but aren’t exactly sure what you need from him. When you moan his name, Jace seems to know. With heavy eyes, you watch him move even further down your body. He spends a long moment just looking at you laid bare in front of him. His perusal isn’t enough; you miss his touch.

“Jace,” you whine, practically breathless.

“Y/N,” he replies, his breath dancing against your core, making you shiver. Jace smiles, grabbing your ankle when you begin to squirm, desperate for contact again. “I told you,” he says, “I want to take my time with you.” The sound that comes out of you is animalistic, filled with frustration and need. Jace laughs at you, placing a kiss to your thigh.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before,” he says. “This frustrated.” He kisses you again, an inch closer to where you need him most. You lift your head to look at him. You’re about to say something snarky when his finger gently separates your folds. Immediately, you gasp, arching as he rubs gently.

Ever so slowly, he does pick up the pace, his forefinger circle the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. During his ministrations, his eyes are on your, watching what action makes you wiggle beneath him, which makes you moan.

“Jace,” you cry out, writhing underneath him. Your breathing is becoming more intense, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Not just yet,” he says. You roll your eyes in frustration, whining again. Jace laughs as his lips meet your center. Your entire body arches into him as his tongue moves against your core. Eyes still locked on you, he devours you. Most of the sounds you make are incoherent, fading into the cacophony of your gasps and the low noises Jace makes.

“Fuck, Jace!” you groan when finally, the tension within you releases. Jace smiles but doesn’t move from in between your legs. He rides out your waves of pleasure, his tongue still doing things that have you forgetting your name. When you’ve come down, you release your grip on Jace’s hair, not even realizing you had grabbed it again. He moves up next to you, kissing you slowly. The tase of you is on his lips, which leaves you feeling some type of possessive nature over him.

“Jace, that was—”

“I know,” he says with a smile. His hairline is sweaty, his hair out of control from your touch. He is so beautiful, and after what he just did for you, you never want to leave this bed, to leave his side. You pull him back to your lips, kissing him fiercely. When he breaks away, he kisses the corner of your jaw. You sigh and notice with increasing delight that he has kicked off his pants, and now fists his cock. Just the sight of it sends liquid to your core.

“Jace.”

“Touch me,” he says against your skin, “Please.” You don’t have any time to be nervous about what you’re doing, so great is your want. When your hand wraps around his cock, Jace moans directly into your ear. The sound gives you confidence. You mimic the motion he was doing to himself, tilting his jaw with a finger, so that you can taste the sounds he makes.

Instinctively, it seems that your bodies move together. He moves over you and the look on his face as you continue to touch him is like nothing you’ve ever seen or felt before.

“I need you,” Jace pants.

“Yes,” you say, just as breathlessly. You drop your hand and Jace lines his cock to your center. He rubs against you, slicking himself on your folds. You whimper slightly, already over sensitized.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Jace says, his warm eyes meeting yours. You nod, completely trusting him.

When he presses into you, the two of you let out twin cries of pleasure. You grip his shoulders as you get used to the feeling of him inside of you. He moves inside of you slowly, his eyes watching your face in awe.

“Jace,” you say, “Fuck.” He laughs at the curse, something he has never heard from your lips before tonight.

“You are so beautiful,” he says, gripping your waist as he picks up his pace.

“Yeah?” you ask, arching into him.

“You’re perfect,” he says. He grabs hold of your leg, bending it so he can feel you even deeper.

You aren’t sure how you are even breathing, everything that comes out of your mouth is a gasp or moan or his name. He is slowly dissolving that way, too, his movements becoming sloppier, rougher. Every thrust inside of you is another pang of pleasure, but still, the tension builds inside of you.

Jace’s mouth has been savaging your neck and shoulder, but when his breath becomes more strained, he whispers in your ear, “Touch yourself. I want to feel your release.” At that moment, you would have jumped out the window if he told you to. You do as he asks, sliding your hand between your bodies, touching yourself the way he had before.

“Like that?” he asks. Your other hand clings to his back, scraping softly.

“Not as much as I liked your mouth,” you say back. Jace moans into your ear, his pace picking up. You match it, and quickly the two of you cry out as you come around him. Jace’s release fills you as he rests on top of you, his breathing heavy. For a long moment, you stay like that, just catching your breaths, prone in each other’s arms.

When he turns to look at you, you both let out a breathy laugh. You brush back his sweaty curls and kiss him.

“I love you,” you say quietly.

“I love you.” He kisses you once. He pulls out of you, and you breathe in at the loss. Jace looks smug as he flops down beside you. For a little while, you just lay there, cooling down. But then, you don’t want to be away from him for any longer, and curl into his arms. He is sweaty, like you must be, too, but you don’t care as he wraps an arm around you and kisses your forehead.

“Let’s never leave this bed,” you say with a sigh, placing a kiss over his beating heart. He meets your gaze with a smile.

“Deal.

There is a goddess in bed next to him. A naked goddess, in his bed. He must have been dreaming.

He had dreamed of this. Dreamed and fantasized about you, late into the night with his hand around his cock.

But the real thing, feeling your body under his, getting to touch you, it turned him on now, just remembering the night before. You shift in your sleep, letting out a soft moan. Jace remembers the sounds you made last night, louder and more fervent in his ear. He remembers the way you arched your back, pressing your breasts into him, your hands on his body, and the taste of you.

Twice the night before, he had taken you, his desire for you still too great after that first time. Now even, you are peacefully asleep on his chest, your long hair laid out on his pillow, and he still cannot stop thinking about kissing you, tasting you, fucking you again.

Last night had not been his first, but it might as well have been. He had never felt like this before. Everything he had ever wanted was in his arms, and he vowed right then that he would do anything to keep you like this.

He knows he has been watching you for too long, but he can’t bring himself to care. You shift in his arms, another delicious hum from your lips. When you say his name, your throat is scratchy.

“Yes?” he asks gently.

“I can feel you staring.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks. Your eyes open then, immediately locking onto his. Jace smiles as he puts a hand to your chin, tilting your mouth to meet his. You sigh into the kiss, gently parting his lips, and Jace’s cock responds. He feel like a much younger man, so quickly aroused. You break the kiss first, biting your lip to keep your grin at bay.

“Morning,” you say.

“Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Wonderfully,” you say, relaxing back into his arms. He pulls you in closer, wanting and needing to feel your body on his.

“How did you sleep?” you ask, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I’m not sure I did.”

“Were you watching me the whole night?” you ask with a laugh.

“So what if I was?” he says, squeezing you playfully.

“I assumed you’d be exhausted after all the activity last night,” you say quietly. Jace smirks as he brings his lips to yours.

“Well, it gave me time to think about everything I want to do this morning.”

“I did, too,” you say, “But I still got some sleep.” You kiss his cheek softly, moving across his skin in a trail of kisses, until you bite on his earlobe. The sound he lets out makes you laugh against his skin, goosebumps appearing.

“What were you thinking about?” he asks breathlessly.

“Something I didn’t get to do last night,” you say, “But I’m not sure I’ll be good at it.” He groans in spite of himself, low in his throat. Your lips meet his in a rougher kiss, a sign that you are fully awake now.

“Y/N,” he says on a breath, pulling back from you.

“I love you,” you say quickly. The sight of his smile makes one grow on your face.

“I love you,” he says, pulling you in for a quick kiss. “And there is nothing you can do that I won’t absolutely love.”

“Okay,” you say with a smile. Eyes locked on his, your hand travels down his chest to his cock, already hard for you. “Jace,” you whisper, delight on your face at the expression on his.

“Yes, love?” he asks breathlessly, groaning when your hand slides over the head of his cock.

“You’re so beautiful,” you say softly. He smiles as he starts to say a response, but you kiss him before he can.

“Y/N,” he moans, his eyes closed, his brow sweaty. “Is this what you had in mind?”

“Partially. Just – it didn’t feel fair that you got to taste me but I didn’t get to taste ou.” The laugh he lets out is strained. You move upright, kissing Jace once before taking your hand off of him. You kiss down his neck slowly, remembering how he tormented you the night before. His hands grip your body, holding you flush to him, but letting you do what you’d like. You move down his chest, your hands and mouth exploring every inch of his body.

When you move down to his hips, you look up at him with a smirk.

“Let me know if I do anything wrong,” you say, kissing his shaft softly.

“Y/N, you couldn’t.”

“You say that, but—”

“What part of this,” he says, motioning to his cock, “Makes you think I wouldn’t like anything you do?”

“Just . . . thoughts, I guess,” you say with a smile.

“Try,” he says lowly, “And see for yourself just how much I love everything you do.”

“Fine,” you say, and when your mouth closes around him, Jace takes your hair in his hands, his moans loud, and falling closer to his release as he falls completely in love with you.

[lalunanymph]

𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐎

in japanese culture, 'jizos' are small figurines dressed in red caps and bibs to honor the souls of babies who were never born

tw miscarriage, implied cheating, heavy angst, itoshi rin x fem!reader

The salty sea air stung his eyes, drawing to them a sheen of tears that threatened to spill out by the sight that greeted him. 

Close to the shore, draped in a long trench coat and staring out into the horizon, the woman he loved stood with her back turned from him, shoulders hunched and eyes vacant. 

After days of traversing this small town and asking around well-meaning shopkeepers and local experts, he had finally found the plum orchard belonging to her family. A few kilometres from the bountiful field was the seashore where she often spent time in the evenings to conclude a full day of plum-picking. 

Rin stared at you, at your silhouette, raking his eyes up and down your figure like a starving man. There was a pit hollowing out in his rib cage, right underneath his heart where it used to beat valiantly—strongly—and now was nothing but an empty shell. He took one step forward, and stopped.

The beach was empty today, the winter season repulsing tourists from enjoying the crystalline waters. Vendors and tired mothers alike could not find solace from this harsh weather, and so they turned inward, away from the harsh cold. But, you could not be any different. You sought out the wind, the chill and the loneliness like an orphan chased away from home, tracking the clouds in the sky with sightless, forlorn eyes. 

Rin watched as you sat down on a stone bench, drawing your knees to your chin. He thought you had never looked this small and fragile as you did now. 

His feet took him towards you without him telling them to, an impulse he swore he had gotten rid of those months ago when you disappeared from his life and into anonymity. Every step forward felt like he was walking on glass, and he paused in jerky stops, wrestling with his trembling knees that ached to kneel before you in seeking forgiveness. 

You heard someone approaching, and the sudden interruption to your usual peaceful days fractured into broken shards of icy realisation when you saw him standing a few feet away. 

His mop of dark green hair with its too long bangs falling in his face, the pinch between his brow and the devastation in his hollow, teal eyes. He looked thinner than you remembered, shoulders hunched and cheekbones gaunt. The most telling of his suffering were his eyes—they were always filled with fiery passion and disdain for those he perceived as useless and weaker than him. Those teal pits were depleted of their rage, replaced by crestfallen despair that made you wish you never turned around in the first place. 

Something fractured in you, razing down your composure for a few seconds to allow a show of fear flitting across your face. Rin walked towards you with his palms raised, a peace treaty for his declaration of conflict. He pleaded without words for you to stay put, even going so far as to approach you cautiously like you were a wounded animal. 

Your breathing ran jagged, and a tremble overtook your hands. Rapidly, your eyes ticked towards the closest escape path, wondering how fast you could sprint to evade his touch—his presence—and hide away once more so he could never unearth you again. As if he could read your mind, Rin’s hoarse, low voice pierced through the blood rushing in your ears.

“Y/N, stop. Don’t run.” 

You stood, rooted to the spot, breath tumbling out in frosty trembles. He stopped a few feet away from you, letting you gasp in the salty air that was not tainted by his familiar pine cologne and musk. Giving you some space to adapt to his presence. 

Rin was a man who floundered with his words if it wasn’t steeped in threats or aggression. There was nothing he could do to remedy the sudden catch on his tongue, the lump in his throat that almost swallowed him whole. You were better at this than he was; better at speaking, at expressing yourself and your love. You were always a better person than he was. 

He could not even offer you comfort because he forgot how it felt—how comfort tasted and moulded in between his embrace, forever lost to his blind touches ever since the day you disappeared from his life. 

The wind started to pick up and bite your exposed wrists, and you wished you had brought some gloves to ward off the chill of his ocean deep eyes boring into yours.  

Neither of you spoke for a time, the waves crashing to shore the only accompaniment to this lovelorn scene playing out between two people who were no longer lovers. You glanced at your boot-clad feet sinking in the soft sand, and turned your gaze out towards the horizon. 

The wind played with the edges of your locks, and Rin fought the unreasonable urge to tuck them behind your ears, to not take your cheeks in his hands like he used to do a million times before.

“Y/N—”

“Why did you come here?” Your voice was feathered with exhaustion, echoing the dark circles underneath your eyes. “The paparazzi will catch you—your career will be on the line if you’re seen with me. You should go.” 

You turned around to walk away and Rin didn’t know what was worse—that your first thought was to keep his reputation safe or that you assumed he hadn’t taken the consequences into consideration when he made this impossible move to find you. There were more dire concerns on the line besides his reputation; his probation with PXG hanging in thin air, the number of fouls piling up on his name, the amount of misses he had during last week’s training alone…

But, Rin disregarded them all. He buried them in the back of his mind as he took a train, then a plane and rented a car to drive himself to this little, far-flung town hundreds of miles away from Tokyo. 

Just for a chance to see you. 

And you had turned your back on him, thinking he was here by mistake. 

He wasn’t. 

Rin reached out to grab your wrist, not anticipating the choked cry you released. He cringed away like you had scalded him and noticed a second too late the silvery tracks running down your cheeks. 

“Please,” your voice was hoarse, pitiful. “I already gave you everything. Everything, Rin. Please leave me alone.” 

The tiny sniffles you expelled, the tears you dashed away and the completely miserable fracturing of your expression made him come to a hard pause. 

Rin swallowed heavily, about to reach out for you again when you shrank back and shook your head. His lungs were filling up with water and his knees were weighted with lead when they sank into the sand, strong arms vining around your torso as he buried his face into your lower back. Desperately holding onto you so you wouldn’t wash away like his hopes and dreams—whispers of foolish wishes that would never come true: of the peaceful life he wanted to have with you, your beautiful face the first thing he would see every morning when he greeted the world, the adorable reflections of your children who would have his eyes and your smile…

“Don’t,” his pleas cracked under the weight of his muffled sobs. “Don’t go. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m… I’m so sorry, baby.” 

But, like sand slipping through his fingers, you evaded his grasp and anguished yearning, leaving him alone on his knees as if you never existed in the first place. The brief contact he had with you seared through his skin like an iron brand, tasting of your warmth and sunshine he had missed in what felt like decades. It was like he could finally smell, see and love vividly, only for that light to be taken away from him when you pried his hands off you and took one step forward. 

Disregarding him behind in the dust like how his brother once did. Rin refused to let you go, gripping onto the hem of your coat, praying you would turn around and see him again—love him again. 

“Rin—” The choked emotion in your tone was far from the spite one would assume a heartbroken woman like you would have.

You had known Itoshi Rin to be an incredibly proud man who would never beg or plead for anyone quite like how he was bowing on his knees for you. And it pained you to see him this broken down—this beaten.

Because of you. 

“Stop. Don’t.” Stand up, live your life, leave me alone.

Words you could not say perforated the air harsher than any salt or mineral could to rust the foundations of your feeble relationship with Rin. “Please, go. You… I don’t want to do this. We’re over, Rin. We’ve been over. Stop. Don’t do this.” 

You halfway wished you hadn’t glanced back at him to tug your coat from his grasp. Wished you hadn’t seen his red-rimmed eyes, his swollen lips from biting back quiet sobs or the utter agony you could never fully grasp swimming in those beautiful teal irises of his. They swirled around you like dangerous eddies, dunking you into their icy bellies and numbing your rational thoughts from the perilous consequences. 

And you valiantly fought off the current, trying hard to shake the hatred lingering in your soul for the words he spat in his brother’s face during the heat of their argument. 

It happened weeks ago but you could still recall what he said like it was imprinted on the back of your eyelids. 

Don’t be a lukewarm idiot—she’s worthless and means nothing to me. I only wanted to take revenge on you so you would know what it… what it felt like to lose! 

A tear slipped past his lash line, free falling down to the grainy ground and sinking into the porous beyond. How many tears had the sand taken from the sea only to welcome her agony over and over again like a patient martyr? Another drop was hardly a burden onto his shifting shoulders; Rin’s heartbreak held no substance in time besides this very second, soon to be absorbed, never to be seen again. 

All you did was sped up the process, not wanting to delay this excruciating torment and endure it for another second longer. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered again, this time in a softer tone, as if he understood he had lost the war before it even began. “I didn’t mean what I said, I’m so sorry. Forgive me, baby? Please? Take me back.”

The last sentence was more of a desperate order than a request, his entire heart on the line when he reached out to you again, beseeching you like a sinner begging for clemency from a deity, taking your hands and pressing your palms to his cheeks. “Let me explain myself. I love y—“

“Please.” 

The warmth you bestowed onto him even for just a few seconds was ripped away again, with more force this time, and you didn’t care if he was on his knees; you wanted to run away and never see him again.

Taking a few mincing steps back, your heart exploded with agonising relief when he didn’t move after you, frozen to the ground with his arms extended out towards your direction. They eventually flopped back to his side, losing all momentum and hope when you shook your head, fighting back a sob with a palm pressed to your mouth. Your eyes were heavy with unshed tears, and the moment you looked away, one of those pesky droplets broke free and slipped down your cheek, illuminating a path he wanted to kiss away with his apologetic lips; to stop the flow of sorrow with his aching devotion. 

But, from your tense shoulders and frozen shock, you would rather swallow glass than let him do that; you wouldn’t let him come close to you without putting up a fight. 

Balling your fists over your mouth, he watched, helpless to do anything but watch when you expelled a loud, muffled sob and shook your head from side to side, as if to push off the pain clinging to you like a second skin. 

“Go,” you heaved through the cracks of your fingers, shaking from head to toe. “You’ve taken everything from me—my life back in Tokyo, my relationship with… with Sae… my reputation… you’ve gotten your revenge, Rin.” 

You gasped that last part out, releasing one fist to push into your stomach, grounding your pain with a physical one so that you wouldn’t lose your mind right this instance. “I meant nothing to you, r-right? So, you shouldn’t be here if I m-meant n-nothing to y-you.” 

“Wait—”

He barely blurted out his next words when you swivelled on your axis and sprinted back to your car, leaving him alone on the cold sand to fend off his tears. His knees smarted when he stood back to his full height, hands jammed into his pockets to hide the tremble in his fingers as those agonised teal eyes watched your car disappear down the road, back to the safety of your family’s orchard. Back to your cocoon you had spun to hide yourself away from the world.

Away from him. 

Rin dropped his eyes to the sand staining his dark wash jeans, methodically brushing back one grain after another, his mind humming a blank. He ignored the pain in favour of taking off his shoes and socks, rolling up the hem of his jeans to his calves and soaking his feet in the cold waves lapping around him. For a few seconds, he closed his eyes, immersed in the cold, fighting back the pain manifesting in his right temple. 

He peeled open his eyes again, and realising that he had sunken in a few inches since he last stood at the edge, he reluctantly stepped back, picking his shoes and socks from near the stone bench and made his way towards the old, rented car. Driving away, he escaped with his metaphorical tail in between his legs, not noticing a lone figure scrutinising him at a lookout point just above the beach. 

Dressed in dark jeans and a similar jacket to Rin, his signature auburn hair tucked under a baseball cap and a large pair of shades covering his eyes, Itoshi Sae watched his brother fall to his knees for the woman who once belonged to him.

He was positioned too far to hear the words you both exchanged, but he could guess the context when Rin refused to let you go, clinging onto you like how a scared child might to his mother about to leave out the door forever.  

Sae admitted he didn’t feel a shred of satisfaction when you repeatedly turned away, only for Rin to grip onto your coat, your hands, and nearly catch your waist again when you finally evaded him and sprinted towards your car. He wasn’t a cruel bastard the world made him out to be, not when he had to fight off the ache to tug his little brother back from the seashore, eyes narrowed in scrutiny as Rin stood stock still at the ocean’s lip. 

He waited, wondering if Rin would succumb to the same pit of misery that was exactly like the one in his chest and wade deeper into the churning sea. Sae mulled over the thought of whether he had it in him to pull his younger brother back from the edge. 

But, the moment Rin walked back to his car, Sae released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. 

He grunted, hands tightening into fists when his otouto drove away, in the direction of your home; the same address Sae had painstakingly researched for till the early hours of morning. 

Truth be told, Itoshi Sae had no idea what he was doing here. 

He had abandoned his flight to Spain and chose a domestic one to this buttfuck town in the middle of nowhere, just for the slimmest hope of seeing you again. 

Peak season was upon the football world, and his team had a match against Italy next week. In theory, he should be practising his drills until he collapses in exhaustion, not stalking the woman whose life he ruined with clandestine pictures of her affair with his own brother. 

What is wrong with me?  

Sae could never find the exact answer for that. So, he waited until the sky dipped under the horizon and the shutters of night started to close upon the corners of the world. 

Only then did he turn back to his own car to drive in the opposite direction of Rin; back to his hotel to pack up and leave this shit town before his coach realised he was missing. 

In just one afternoon, your entire world had turned upside down.

You should’ve known that when peace came with the realisation that life had at least managed to work out for you, your past would come knocking on your door, like a bloodhound sniffing out your deepest wounds.

And you absolutely had not expected to see Rin at all. 

You could barely pay attention to your job, and the cash register felt more like a barricade hiding you from incoming fire than a counter you could seek a few hours of solace from. Counting spare change needed a calculator’s help, and you had nearly dropped an entire jar of expensive umeboshi if it wasn’t for Kenji’s quick reflexes in catching the heavy glass.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised to him, almost in tears. “I’m… I’m not right today.” 

He didn’t have to ask you why, because the second you uttered those words, the shop bell rang shrilly, and Rin stepped into the tiny store. 

Kenji straightened, staring at the other man in disbelief; wondering just what the hell an Itoshi brother was doing here in the middle of Minabe where he didn’t belong.

“You,” Kenji seethed, rolling up his sleeves. Somewhere behind him, you flinched and took a step back behind the still, as if bracing yourself for the worst. 

In your mind, you imagined Rin’s tantrum, the words he would yell at you and the attention drawn, once again, to your luckless love life in choosing him over Sae. 

But, you hadn’t expected Rin to stiffly bow at your brother, completely ignoring you as he mumbled, “I’m here to submit a job application. I saw you needed a staff member to help with menial tasks and I wanted to try my luck.” The sign tacked onto the front of the shop drew your eyes towards it, and you wondered how you hadn’t noticed it in the first place until Rin pointed it out. Bowing deeper, he ignored your soft gasp of bafflement, only focused on the one man who held the keys to his redemption. 

Without waiting for Kenji to reply, Rin bulldozed on to sell himself. 

“I’m strong. I have good stamina and my physique stands at 6 foot 3. I can help with rearranging jars and even with plum picking, if you would accept me.”

Whatever card your brother expected your ex-lover to play, it wasn’t this. He stood there, stupefied with his stocky shoulders slumped. For a split second, he glanced at you, and with a secret sibling code, he raised his eyebrows, as if to say—what’s going on? 

Your reply was a quick, sharp shake of your head. I don’t know. 

Rin waited while you both silently communicated, his intense teal stare never wavering from the dirty tiled floors. 

It wasn’t your decision to reject or hire any potential employees, so your brother was the one to call the shots. 

“What… why would you want this job?” Narrowing his eyes, Kenji spoke through gritted teeth when the obvious answer settled in. “If it’s just to play sweet by my sister, you can forget it. I’m never letting you get close to her.” 

You noticed Rin’s heavy shoulders tensing and anticipated a sharp reply or the promise of a brawl. Not lowered eyes and an almost regretful expression.

“I wanted to atone for my mistakes and this was the only way I knew how. I want to help your family, L/N-san.” 

It sounded strange to hear your ex-lover say your family name with such formality; it made you come to terms that he never held a perception of hierarchy when it came to you. 

You were always Y/N to him, just like he was just Rin to you.

“Fuck off, Itoshi,” your brother retorted hotly, and he picked up a broom, as if the measly stick could ward off a seasoned football player who was physically in his prime. “Get out of here. You’re just trying to get back into my nee-chan’s good graces. You shouldn’t be here.”

Kenji’s words rang around the small shop. The air-conditioner gurgled and whined; there was no other sound in this tight bubble of tension than all of your heavy breathing.

Rin’s eyes met yours for the first time since this morning when you rejected him on the beach with desperation. They were filled to the brim with such sorrow you had never seen the egotistical striker carry; a weight curving the ends of his lips down. 

“Can I at least speak to you before I leave? Please?” he added softly as an afterthought. 

Kenji glanced at you, prepared to fight your battles. But, you shook your head and took a deep breath. This was a conversation you needed to have with Rin alone; there was only so much you could do before your past came back with a vengeance, pleading for you to resolve the suffocating emotions so everyone could move on freely. 

Going around the still, you glanced back at Kenji with a tight smile. “Could we borrow the balcony for a bit?” 

Your brother looked like he would rather swallow nails than let stay in the same room with this bastard for one more second. He debated for a split second, and only when you nodded again, did he give his consent. 

“Fine.” Fishing in his overall’s pockets, he tossed you a single bronze key. To Rin, he fixed a glare. “If I hear one single complain from my nee-chan—”

“You have every right to beat me up,” he promised without prompting, catching both you and Kenji back with surprise. Rin’s conviction in his tone was what gave the slightest bit of confidence to Kenji that the pro-player wasn’t going to hurt you again once his back was turned. “I’ll take care of her,” Rin murmured softly, and the glimmer of gratitude on his lashline shouldn’t have made Kenji feel guilty, but it did. “You can trust me with that.”

His reassurance was a bit of an overkill, but it worked to ease your brother’s distaste. Kenji glanced at the ticking clock, and then back at your grim expression.

“Fifteen minutes. Anymore than that and I will personally throw you out of this store myself, Itoshi. You’re taking up my only employee’s precious time.” 

“I promise I’ll make this quick.” Rin’s serious expression reflected your exasperation back. You loved your brother, but sometimes, he could be a bit of a hardhead with his threats. 

“We’ll be down in a bit,” you reassured, and unlocked the door which led right to the very top floor. “Please help me man the counter?” 

The corner of your brother’s lip twitched, but he didn’t deny your request, taking your place behind the still with his back turned from the door. Counting down the minutes and showing enough grace to give you both the privacy you needed without his prying eyes.

You shot him an appreciative look, and gestured at Rin to follow you. He kept a respectable distance from you, hands in his pockets and surly expression locked on the linoleum floor to watch his steps. 

Bright sunlight battered down your head without mercy, and you shielded your eyes, staring out at the different tiled houses as far as your eye could see. In the distance was the beach where Rin had encountered you not even five hours ago, his knees digging into the sand, begging you for the forgiveness you could not give to him.

Now, he was back here, braving the storm of your family’s retribution and judgement to speak to you. 

What did that say about his character and intentions? 

If Rin really was guilty of the things he had done to you, he would’ve stayed away for the sake of his good conscience. But, here he was, looking at you like you hung the moon in the sky and the stars would disappear if he took his eyes off of you for a single second.

A cool breeze played with the ends of your hair, and it threw his bangs into a disarray. You almost reached forward and pushed them back, like you did the first time you had met Rin in his kitchen. But, like that very first time, you chickened out and kept your hands into fists by your side. 

“Thank you for your willingness to listen,” he broke the silence, and your heart plummeted right into your stomach when the redness rimming his eyes came into your focus. 

“Are you sleeping well?” you had no idea why you blurted out such a question. What Rin did in his spare time was none of your concern anymore. And yet… you couldn’t stop your curiosity on his wellbeing. 

He blinked and briefly glanced down at his sneakers. “Um, no. A-are you?” 

The question was meant to sound casually curious, but with Rin, nothing was ever casual. His intensity in hiding his true emotions was as palpable as your shaking hands. Neither of you could keep the truth from the other for too long, or play along with a game that had already decided the heartbroken loser.

You sighed, crossing your arms in front of your body, preferring to stare out at the sliver of calming blue in the distance than his haunted teal eyes. 

“Rin—”

“I’m sorry.” 

Just like that, with no fanfare of emotional blackmail. Itoshi Rin expressed his regret as eloquently as he could—with less words because he was a man of action. And right now, he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you and hold you right above his heartbeat. 

Couldn’t you hear it from where you stood? It only thrummed the cadence of your name. You were written in his every breath from the second he saw you. 

Rin needed you to forgive him because he may actually go insane if you refused to show him any grace. 

His heartbeat was lodged right in his throat, and he stared at you with open want; wishing you would break the distance between the both of you and fall right back into his arms. 

But, you had every right to be angry with him. He was the root cause that destroyed your life; the virus which encroached your every breath and poisoned how the world saw you. 

Your reputation, your home and your job was all gone because of him. It would take a lifetime to atone for his mistakes, and Rin was ready to start now. He would lay himself right at your feet if you so much as asked him to. If you told him that you never wanted to see him again, he would fight to try and change your mind. 

Rin would fight for you, tooth and nail, because that was what a striker did. They would go to the ends of the earth for a goal, and you were one of his biggest aspirations to return to.

The trophies and medals and worldly recognition didn’t matter. 

All Itoshi Rin wanted was you in your pure entirety. 

“I’m sorry for what I did to you. I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. I promise, I—” his breath caught, and the truth spilled from his willing lips onto your unwilling ears that burned with the shame of remembering everything he said before. “—I was stupid and careless with my words. You don’t mean ‘nothing’ to me. You… you mean a lot to… to me…” 

He trailed off, the words right on the tip of his tongue. 

You are my everything, Y/N. I love you. 

It’s just three words. Rin was able to say it. He was able to share his entire soul with you if his mouth would just move. 

Come on, you coward. Tell her what she deserves to hear. Tell her what you’re really feeling. Just tell her—

“I love… I love…”

Like the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders, those words which carried a Universe of meaning were about to fall like the heaviest stars onto your lap. For you to marvel at, for you to hold, or for you to reject—Rin wasn’t sure what you would do. 

He never had a chance to tell you how he really felt before the scandal broke out, and he was paying the price for his big ego. He should’ve told you what you meant to him. He should’ve yelled out to the world how you made his heart sing and how you could make his stone cold soul come back to life with the promise of your new tomorrow.

There were a lot of things Rin should’ve done, and loving you was the only thing he should’ve done right.

You didn’t deserve the half-love he gave you or those harsh words which fractured your trust in him. 

You had made him feel safe when he couldn’t even stay still in his own skin. You were the one person who dared to dig deeper past his cold facade to bring out the boyish side of him begging for love. You patiently mended his broken pieces with your constant patience. You made him feel reassured enough to expose the soft underbelly of his emotions.

You had carried his baby. 

And what did he do?

He broke your heart. He made you feel like you never meant anything to him. He played a big part in destroying your entire life. He had caused you enough stress to lose the gift of love you both created together. 

You had appeared in his life like a ray of light through fractured glass on an ice-cold surface. Slowly, you chipped apart his frosty demeanour, and for the first time in his life, Rin felt like he belonged somewhere. That he belonged with someone. 

Rin had always felt like a stranger everywhere he went, and you were the first one to give him direction in his short life. He wasn’t nurtured by his own mother, barely tolerated by his own father and completely despised by his older brother. 

There were a few people he could count on his fingers who actually cared for him, and you were always at the forefront of his mind whenever that question arose. 

“Y/N,” the words he wanted to say came out as a hitched breath. “I love yo—”

“Rin, please,” your exhausted call of his name stopped him from spilling out those three words which he desperately hoped would change your mind. 

The look on your face was nothing short of pure heartbreak. Even in your dreary uniform, you shone like the brightest star, refracting off his foolish hopes and dreams for a reconciliation when you were still hurting with every breath.

Rin knew this. He knew he had to give you time. But, his time here with you was limited; half of him wanted to let you know the words which burdened heavily on his soul before he had to wait to see you again—if he would ever see you again. 

If you would ever allow him to see you again.

But, judging from your stance to your sombre expression, Rin sensed his chances were slim to none. The desperation clawed at his throat, resting somewhere underneath his ribcage and pulsing with only one sensation.

Hope. 

Rin desperately hoped you would take him back. All he ever wanted was you. 

But, you broke that hope with what you said next, and whether you knew it or not, you stole the last of his sanity when your words hit him like a truck. 

“Everything we did… for you, it was revenge. But, for me… it was love.”

Your watery smile cracked into painful fragments, rivers of anguish carving down your cheeks. His entire chest exploded into stabs of pain. Questions and uncertainties bounced in his brain like a broken record: should he reach out for you? Kiss you? Beg for your forgiveness again?

“I loved you, Itoshi Rin,” you finished your soliloquy quietly, unaware of the storm you set off in his soul, his frozen body desperately stuck in its eye. 

Say something you coward… change her mind… tell her you love her.

But, she loved me. 

Loved. Not love. 

Was he too late? 

Those pesky words clogged the back of his throat, and no matter how much he wanted to spill them out, they wouldn’t budge. Remaining stuck there to rot while he had to watch you slip away from him for the third time in his life. 

The smile you wore did not touch your glossy eyes, and you closed them momentarily, letting the sun burn behind your lids in this last enjoyment of the winter afternoon rays. You opened them to his red-rimmed eyes and quivering lips. You were going to devastate him again, he knew it, but he could not turn around and look away; could not peel his attention from the wreckage waiting to unfurl—your earth-wounding words that would shatter his hopes all over again.

“Even if you have broken my heart into pieces… I just want to say that… I would’ve loved to dance with you again in another lifetime.” 

Loved. Not love. 

You bowed your head, having unloaded all you needed to say and turned around for one final time. 

Rin took one step back, reeling from the surety of your words that were set in stone.

Loved. Not love. 

He really was too late. 

As if an invisible timer signalled the end of this meeting, you bowed your head, trying your best to ignore the devastation imploding on every inch of his expression out of the corner of your eye. 

“I should be going now, Rin,” you muttered softly. “I have to finish my shift… Please, get home safely.”

Home. 

He watched as you gave him a parting, thin smile, and with your arms still wrapped around your torso, you descended down the stairs. Back to your new life and reality without him.

Rin closed his eyes, warding off the intrusive thoughts begging him to just grab you and hold you tight in the seam of his embrace so you would never leave him again. But, he recognized that if he did, you would hate him forever. 

He needed to give you some space. And he needed to finally tell you what was haunting his mind and soul. 

He needed to tell you what he truly felt or else the peace he was desperately seeking would never find him.

It was stupid, but Rin had to try.

And he wouldn’t stop trying until he could finally unburden the secrets of his soul.

Until he could finally tell you how much he loved you without stuttering over his words and keeping them hostage on his traitorous tongue.

I love you. I love you.

Why were those words so hard to say? What could make it easier when he knew with every fibre of his soul that they were true?

Maybe I have to show it to her instead of saying it. 

And just like that, he conjured up a simple idea, one which would lead him right back to you.

But first, he had to win over your younger brother. 

Rin was relentless in pursuing you.

He had another day left in Minabe before his reservation at this shitty ryokan was up and Ego-san would call for a nationwide search to find his best striker. His paltry pile of clothes were packed—reluctantly, he might add—into neat squares in the corner, ready for him to stuff into his suitcase. Implicitly, Rin knew what the outcome of this crazy idea would be, and if his hunch was proven right, he had to leave—and quickly.

He took a look at himself in the floor length mirror, tousling his limp bangs into a semblance of life. Deciding the angle in which they flopped was better than the last, he inhaled deeply and set out to find you once more.

Along the way, Rin stopped to buy a bouquet of flowers. They were pathetic at best—a few limp stems poking from the damp wrapping—but, he knew you loved pink lotuses. They were your favourite; he remembered how you couldn’t keep your eyes off them when the both of you walked past an arrangement perched prettily on a console table during that brief respite on a balcony in Hokkaido. 

With flowers in hand, Rin put on his thickest face, prepared to trudge back into your little umeboshi shop and finally spill out the words lodging in the back of his throat ever since he first saw you in your ridiculously short miniskirt under the light of his mother’s kitchen.

But, when he disembarked from his car, he found the shop locked. Closed for the day.

One quick scan of the plaque hanging by the handle told him that Ume Sanka didn’t open on Tuesdays. 

A lump of coal seemed to settle in the pits of his stomach. He swallowed hard, and doubled back, about to scour the beach for you, when he noticed a woman staring at him from across the street.

“Hello!” she called out to him, in a friendly way most villagers had. She waved him over, her rheumy eyes shining with delight. 

“Oh, how handsome you are,” she cooed, and disregarding personal space, ruffled his hair. 

“Hey—”

Rin snapped his mouth shut when she laughed throatily. “Are you looking for the L/N girl? You must be a suitor from Tokyo trying to win her back. Ah, the old hags at my Go club were wondering for days—why she came back home all of the sudden. Poor girl. She looked so sad—you must’ve been the one to break her heart.”

Though the older woman meant to joke, Rin couldn’t help but feel a stab of guilt. Without a shred of his ego, he nodded.

“Do you know where I can find her?” 

Even to this relative stranger, his desperation was palpable. The older woman chuckled, and lifting one bony finger, pointed down the road. “Her family owns an orchard. Nasty business it was. I’m old enough to remember—her father, what a bastard. He left her mother and moved to some town in the middle of nowhere. The poor woman—bless her heart—tried to keep it together for her family, but she also hightailed it out of here the moment her boy turned two. Only granny was left to take care of the both of them.” 

Unaware of how this young man’s heart was leadened in both despair and grief for never knowing your story, she continued. “Eventually, the orchard was passed to the boy, and the girl—prettiest I’ve ever seen—went to the city to look for work. Honestly, everyone thought she would fail or come back home, belly swollen and heartbroken. But, she’s just fine. A little sad looking, but better than any of us expected.” 

Rin clenched the flowers tighter in his grip, his heart rate tripling. “Thank you. For telling me—and for showing me where she is.” He bowed to this random kind angel, and the older woman looked absolutely delighted. 

“Good luck finding her, young man. You look strong and sure. I think you could win her over.”

Rin sure hoped so, as well. Turning on his heel, he jogged down the cobblestone path, taking a left turn and finding himself in front of a fence. It was opened, and he pushed it slightly, stepping into plush greenery and tall, swaying plum trees. The air smelled ripe and sweet. Rin inhaled greedily, suddenly hyper aware of how this crisp scent was the same one lingering on your neck. 

In the throes of his thoughts, he didn’t sense someone approaching him.

“You. Again.” 

Rin never thought he would’ve been relieved to see your brother, but the second he heard Kenji’s voice, his shoulders sagged.

“Kenji-san. Is Y/N here?” Shamelessly, Rin looked at him eagerly. Kenji’s eyes fell on the bouquet in the other man’s grip. As much as he was debating if he should take this shovel and knock some common sense into this foolish athlete, Kenji hated to admit how much he admired Rin’s determination. 

Wiping droplets of sweat from his brow, he placed the shovel down and shoved his gloved hands into his thick, windbreaker. “You’re never going to give up until you see her, are you?”

Rin had the decency to look sheepish. “I’ll be leaving for France soon. I really would like to see her again.” 

Kenji’s expression was impassioned. “You’re going to get her hopes up. You should leave her alone if you know what’s good for you.”

But, Rin didn’t hear threats or ultimatums. He was only fixated on the goal of seeing you again. 

“Please, Kenji-san.” Despite being younger than the striker, Kenji took one step back, thrown off by the sincerity in that honorific. “You will be doing me a huge favour if I could see her again. I would like to at least pass her these flowers.” 

Kenji eyed the bouquet of lotuses again, remembering how you would hold a similar arrangement whenever you came back from the florist, all flushed and bright-eyed with satisfaction at your bargain. It was that single reminder of what happiness once looked like on your face which made Kenji reconsider.

“If she rejects you again, I have nothing more to say. She’s made her choice.” 

It wasn’t a blessing, but it wasn’t a curse either. Kenji was merely stating the truth. With his heart in his throat, Rin nodded, and Kenji eventually let him go. 

“She’s by the greenhouses. Just remember what I told you, Itoshi.”

Rin would never forget it; he would never forget your brother’s kindness in having this moment with you. 

“I will,” he mumbled, teal eyes filled to the brim with hope. “Thank you… Kenji-san.” 

The day was unusually cold. 

Even a heat pack in your coat pockets couldn’t keep the numb chill from reaching your fingers, and you shivered, biting back on the urge to leave for the warm comforts of your home and abandon your idea of bathing Reina’s jizo in such conditions.

But, you preserved. If you were this cold, imagine what she must be feeling? 

The woollen hat you knitted for her a month ago was placed lopsidedly on her dear, stony head. You chuckled a little, righting it when you sensed another presence behind you.

“Sorry, Kenji. I’m almost done, okay? I’ll help you rake up the roots later.”

Instead of your brother’s gruff tones, it was an unmistakable low rasp which sent a bolt of electricity down your spine.

“You shouldn’t be out here in the cold like this.” 

You gingerly stood up, ignoring the burn in your thighs from crouching down for almost an hour. The tiny stone statue was hidden from her father’s sight, your hands clawing over the small pail. Frightfully, you wondered how he would react once he saw her—the hatred he must feel towards you for keeping her existence a secret till the very last dire minute.  

Steadying your breathing, you exhaled, “How’d you find me?” 

He was holding a bouquet of lotuses, you noted in shock. The pink blooms looked starkly out of place in an orchard starting to wither from the impending winter. 

“Here.” With the grace of a little boy in church tasked to pass a lighted candle to a girl who always made him blush, Rin thrusted the bouquet underneath your nose. You set the pail down, taking it—unable to break the baffled silence. 

The tips of his ears were red, and Rin shifted his gaze to the ground, struggling to find the right words. “I asked your brother. He told me you’d be here.” Summoning his courage, he looked you in the eye. “I meant what I asked yesterday—I want to help with your store. Take me on as an employee.” 

You blinked. Your fingers were tingling, the cold settling into your bones. You wanted to stuff your hands into your coat pockets but they were curled around freezing stems. A part of you was unsure of where to look or how to best give light to the incredulity burning through your thoughts. “Don’t be silly. You have a career in football.” 

“So?” he argued back, a furrow in his brow. “I would give it all up.” For you. 

He didn’t add that last sentence. He didn’t have to. 

You shifted from one foot to another. “No.” Your tired eyes met his, and you refused to be bowed by his determination. “Go home, Rin.” Exhausted, defeated. You wished he would leave you alone in your exile. Passing him the bouquet back, you softened your rejection with a frail, “Go home—go back to Tokyo.”

Rin had no choice but to take the flowers back with an uncertain look; his shoulders drooped, his eyes falling back to the ground. A loose leaf was shaken out of the arrangement, floating to the floor. He was silent for a few moments, before he said: “Come back to Tokyo.” With me. 

Your heart squeezed. “And do what?” your whisper deepened the chasm between you two. 

He swallowed. “Stay with me. I can get you a job. PXG needs more hands and you can start fresh and—”

“Rin,” your eyes welled with tears. “Stop. You know I don’t belong in Tokyo.” I don’t belong with you. 

“Who said that?” he demanded, taking one step forward. “You belong there. You do.” You belong with me.

You shook your head, forcing a smile on your frozen lips. “I don’t,” your whisper sliced through his defiance, leaving him depleted of hope. “My life is here, with my brother and…” you hesitated, and his eyes flickered to the spot behind your calf. 

He had noticed your biggest secret, his expression folding open in quiet disbelief.

It was useless to hide the truth, and you stepped aside, showing him the jizo statue of a little girl with a peaceful, smiling face and closed eyes. The pail of water and your nervous demeanour suddenly made sense.

“Is that…?” 

His voice disappeared between incredulity and grief. Rin subconsciously took one step forward. You didn’t stop him and he took another until he was standing a foot away from you, absorbed in the tiny details of this stone statue believed to guide an unborn baby’s spirit and protect them in the afterlife. Assuming responsibility for the parents who had failed her in the real world. 

The little cap you had made for her, the mittens that adorned her hands. Rin felt the lump in his throat thicken. 

You were stricken with grief, nodding. Rin looked to you, and the anguish written on his face mirrored your own deep sorrow. 

The both of you stared at the little stone statue—the baby girl conceived into the world betrayed by your own body and his deception. 

Rin’s shoulders curved forward, as if to curl within his own self-hatred. Your haunted gaze touched the jizo, and you slowly got onto the ground, ignoring the cold to tuck your legs into a demure, side sitting position. Inviting him to join you with a simple nod. He sat next to you, cross-legged, fingers an inch away from your own. 

Without looking to you for permission, Rin set the shunned bouquet right in front of her stony smile; all of his overwhelming love and your crippling regret with nowhere to go—except to a little girl who was painfully wanted by both her star-crossed parents only after she no longer existed.  

You yearned to take his hand, hold it and reassure yourself that everything was okay. But, at the last second of your crumbling willpower, you shifted your hand further from his, rocking back. 

Rin’s silence stretched on. 

Above you, the trees rustled in the wind, branches clacking together. You began to shiver, and before you could protest, Rin’s arm came to wrap around you. Sharing his body heat together with you. Despite your reservations, you rested your head on his shoulder, letting yourself be weak in this instance and cave into his embrace. 

No words were shared. Both of your breaths were stuttered, and you swore you felt a tear trickle into your hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I know you don’t trust me, but I just want you to know… not a day goes by that I don’t regret everything.” 

His watery eyes traced the statue’s serene face. You didn’t absolve him of his monstrosities, but neither did you want this moment to be over. So, you sighed brokenly and admitted the first thing that came into mind. 

“I dream of her all the time, you know.” 

His silence welcomed you to spill your sorrowful secrets into his waiting shoulder. “She’s always smiling. Laughing. She’s beautiful.”

Rin recalled the dream he had on the day where everything had gone wrong; of a little girl with sparkling teal eyes and an infectious giggle. He bowed his head forward, lips pressed into your hair. “I dreamt of her, too. Tiny. With my dark hair and eyes. And your smile.” 

“Your eyes,” you echoed uselessly. “My smile.” 

He kissed your temple again. “So beautiful.” 

You fell into a thick disquiet. Rin rubbed your arm, giving you more of his heat. 

“You should go back to Tokyo,” you started, squeezing your eyes shut and refusing to submit to the sobbing voice in the back of your mind begging for him to stay. “It’s where you belong.” When Rin didn’t say a single word, you continued. “Go to France. Win the World Cup. Be happy, Rin. Forget about everything that happened and start anew.” 

Forget about me. 

You didn’t add that last sentence. You didn’t have to. 

“I don’t want to forget everything,” he began in a quiet voice, staring at the stone effigy of his lost daughter. “I don’t want to forget her.” Or, you. 

“You won’t,” you replied simply, with more surety than he could’ve imagined. “She’s with us. Always.” Before you could stop yourself, you gently plucked one mitten from the statue’s hand and pressed it into his larger palm. “Take this. It’ll remind you of her.” And hopefully, me. 

Rin shook his head, about to argue when you echoed an empty laugh. “I’ll make her a new one. I won’t leave her fingers cold—don’t worry.” This time, he couldn’t fight back the tears welling in his eyes, pressing the woven mit into his jacket pocket, wishing he could say something—anything—to change your mind.

But, he didn’t. He had said all he had to say. 

Rin removed his arm and got back to his feet. Your face was hidden by your hair when you stood up, too. He scanned the area, looked back at the statue and then to you. 

You were smiling, haunted and broken, but smiling, nonetheless. Even when you had suffered the most—even when you had left behind everything you held dear and lived a half-life in this tiny village. You still smiled, and for that, Itoshi Rin would never forgive himself. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he blurted out. Your smile slipped and he hastened his words. “You need time, I understand. I can wait for a few years. Or, a year, if you want to speed things up.” 

His lame attempt at a joke made you chuckle weakly. “Rin—”

“I’m not giving up on us,” he said quietly. Your wide eyes latched onto him, whether with fear or admiration, he did not know. “It will take a lot to get me to forget you, L/N Y/N. I hope you know that.” 

He didn’t give you a chance to destroy his hopes. Rin walked away, head bent low and hands in his pockets, fiddling with the tiny mitten you had gifted him. 

Rin tightened his grip on the piece of cloth. There were just some things a person can never push out of their mind no matter how hard they tried. It would linger in their memories, burying into their subconscious. Embedded in their every breath and thought. Like a comet. 

You were a comet in his short life, brilliant and streaking his sky with every shade of colour, Rin feared that if he took his eyes off you, his life would go back to black and white. 

The young man meant what he said. 

He could never forget you.

Not ever in his lifetime.

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, translate and share to other sites.

[pedros-mustache]

pieces of you

warnings: established relationship, language, references to sex, references to age gap, x fem!reader

a/n: uhhhhhhhhhh... yeah. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe it’s possessive and a tad bit jealous. Maybe after years working alongside Tess, you’ve simply learned to lay your claim on what is yours. 

Whatever it is, you like to think that part of Joel Miller belongs to you and you alone. You like to think there is a part of Joel Miller that the girl will never understand.

The mornings belong to you. Soft and simple, like a whispered kiss upon your forehead, his even breath a language only you know. Often he wakes first, and it is the feeling of his stare carving intricate paths across your face that ultimately brings you out of sleep. He never smiles when you open your eyes, but he brushes his finger across your cheekbone. The gentle touch burns into your skin, and you wear it like a tattoo.

Sometimes—rarely—you wake first, and you watch him sleep. His eyes dance behind closed lids, and you wonder what he dreams about. Sarah, you guess; maybe his first wife; maybe the haunting horror of the last twenty years. You like to run your nail down the strong line of his nose; you like to fashion stories out of the years that have folded lines in his skin and gray hair on his jaw. So much older than you, and yet: yours. 

He wakes, then, when you get too close, too comfortable with smoothing the worry lines from his brow and the dust from the crevices in his neck. He looks at you after blinking away the sleep, and it is like watching a little death. His eyes sparkle with peace, with hope, with something close to affection. He squeezes the hand that rests on his chest, and you swear the corner of his mouth lifts. 

Then—

A twig snaps. Something outside your shelter hits the ground. Ellie coughs.

The light in his eyes fades, and reality swallows him whole. 

You don’t like waking up before him.

The nights belong to you, too. So unlike the morning, the nights are raw and frenzied. He finds you—or you find him. Whatever the truth, you find one another once Ellie has fallen asleep or gone to the other room or sought a moment’s solace in the crooked arm of a nearby tree. He kisses you—roughly. Tongue and teeth and hands fighting against buttons in the darkening light of day.

When he takes you, he muffles his groans against the collar of your shirt. His hands grip the flesh of your waist, his fingerprints scarring your skin. He clutches you against him as though you will turn to vapor in his grasp. You cling to him as though you are one flesh.

The mornings and the nights—they are constant and routine, safe and dependable. You lock them in the refuge of your romantic heart. But there is more, always more, that you horde and tuck away as your own. You inspect the moments and the habits like glittering shells from the seashore or fractals of light that spark a rainbow:

He looks to you for confirmation on a decision, the question silent in his eyes.

He walks close, his shoulder brushing your arm.

He saves his last bite of jerky for you and scavenges for any readable book he can find.

He is a gentleman hidden behind a guardian’s brutal frame, but he is good and he is kind in his own quiet way. And these things—these pieces—you like to think they belong to you and you alone.

/ /

“Hey.” You lay down, body aching and feet sore. The frosty earth seeps through your thin bed roll, and not for once you wish you had an extra blanket or a heavier coat. 

Sprawled out on his back, Joel sighs. His gazes roams across the starry sky. He taps the broken face of his watch. “We coulda gone further. Maybe found a cabin.”

You shake your head. “She fell, twisted her ankle. Give her a night to rest.”

“Still have miles to go.”

“We will always have miles to go.”

Covering his eyes beneath his hand, he nods. “You’re right.”

It is your turn to sigh, but you do so with ease. Despite the wretched state of the world, with Joel, all seems possible. 

You lean your head against his shoulder, careful not to get too close. He is skittish at the best of times, avoidant at the worst, and you are ever-sensitive to his need for space. Still, your hand finds his, and the stars continue their midnight dance.

You begin to catalog what must be done come morning. You’ll tend Ellie’s ankle, check her arm, then review each pack for what must be replaced. You aren’t sure what Joel’s food store looks like, but you’re almost certain Ellie’s is empty, as is yours. 

You sit up, turning to look over your shoulder. “I think we should do some scavenging tomorrow if we can. We’re coming up on—” You stop short, unsure of the look on Joel’s face. “You okay?”

Through heavy eyes, he traces the lines on your face, like he does each morning. He finds your wrist, squeezes it, his eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. 

“I’m yours,” he whispers.

You do not ask him to repeat himself because there is no need. You heard him, loud and clear, as though he shouted the words to you across a deep canyon. You smile, and he withdraws his hand from your wrist. He returns his gaze to the sky, his fingers interlaced on his chest. You return to the cold, frosty ground, but your heart is warm. You place your head on his shoulder, and you sleep knowing that yes, there are pieces of Joel Miller that belong to you and you alone.

[cybsoo2]

temptation

01. neverland is not a dream

╰┈➤ synopsis — Shipwrecked, you find yourself stranded on a strange island. After searching the shores, you stumble across a rather annoying boy. His leads you to safety and you start to question what future, fate will bestow upon you.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!faerie!txt x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 4.3k

╰┈➤ content warning — slight angst

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ; AAHH I’M SO EXCITED BUT SCARED TO POST THIS!!hopefully the taglist works cuz its my first time using one. also pls don’t be shy to interact or ask any questions. i luv to hear yall yap •ᴗ•

The salty sea is unfamiliar to your tongue. The waves that wash over you kiss your lips with every swell. The ocean breathes in shallow breaths that turn the tide. You’re swallowed under a sudden wave when you finally decide to open your eyes. 

Your cheek is pressed up against a cool surface. You reach out to run your fingers through the soft sand; digging your hand in deeper to ground yourself. Dehydration has left you dizzy. You lick your lips to get rid of dryness; spitting out the bits of sand that stick to your tongue.

You turn on your back to gauge your surroundings. A bright light blinds you and you bring up your hand to shield your eyes. The warm rays slip past your fingertips. You drop your arm back down once your eyes begin to settle in the sunlight. The void is filled with a bright blue. Millions of miles of nothing but the sapphire shade. The sea and sky battle against each other, two shades morphing into one. No ships sailing, no birds fluttering, you’re entirely alone in this vast expanse of nothingness.

You turn to the side, pieces of your past shipwreck are spread out across the shore. You reach out to touch the destruction. Discarded and decaying, all symbols of safety are ruined. Your breath begins to grow heavy. This realization rests like a 20 pound weight on your chest. You sit up slightly, leaning back on your elbows. Whipping your head around you, you can see that the beach goes on for miles. It stretches out across the horizon and wraps around the curves of the island. Sand, trees, and wreckage are all that you can see. 

You stand up fast, fighting off the feeling of lightheadedness. You swallow down the sandpaper sensation in your throat. 

“Hello!” Your voice tears into your throat. “Is anyone there?! Hello!” Your brittle voice breaks down against its misuse, but you continue screaming into the silence. While you shout at the seashore, you begin to search the beach for any stragglers from the wreck. Desperate eyes scour the empty shore as your cries are carried out to sea. 

You continue to search for what feels like hours until hope holds out its hand and shows you what seems to be… footprints? 

Small markings are dug into the sand and you sprint ahead to take a look. The tracks start in the sand and stretch out into the treeline. You walk alongside them, matching each step with your own. The footprints draw you further into the unknown forest. The woods welcome you. Shifting and reshaping its terrain to form a faint path. It pulls you in before you can think twice. 

Too naive to understand and too distraught to care, you turn a blind eye to your surroundings. Unbeknownst to you, magic flows through the forest. Running like roots through the entire island. It’s intertwined with the trees, dispersed in the air, and familiar to any lifeform that calls this island home. 

While you may not understand what is still unknown, you can feel a power that pulses in the air. An aura that you can’t quite put a name to, but can recognize its strength and ecstasy. It makes a faint humming noise that rings in your ears and hovers with every step you take. It’s not a nuisance like one would assume, rather a relaxant that washes away your worries. 

This feeling feels familiar, as is everything else that meets your eye. Nothing has any resemblance to reality. Everything is warped into a perfect, pink, picture. In your hazy recollection, it reminds you of a drifting dream. The place where sorrow and anger are absent. It’s a child’s paradise filled with fairies, mermaids, monsters, and all things interesting. A sacred sanctuary reserved for the fallen youth. Yet, it’s a wonder how you wound up here. An island lost at sea, never mapped and only known to those who spend their lives searching for it. Perhaps, the devil needed a shiny new thing to toy with. And who is he to resist a sweet thing so pure. 

You’ve followed your fantasies to temptation. Lured out by someone else’s lucky streak. The gates left unguarded to a new and interesting enigma. But when what you believe to be a dream starts morphing into a realm of reality, why would you want to leave? Even when you realize that the roots run red with dark desires and a sinful touch, would you even be able to escape?

A rustling in the bushes causes you to look up from your feet. You gain a feeling of unease and stop to hold your breath. The trees seem to taunt you, dropping leaves on your head that make you jump out of your skin. The bushes shake with laughter and the birds twitter teasing remarks. 

You can feel yourself growing closer. A certain presence plays hide-and-seek in the shadows. A storm swims in your stomach, the tides turning and making you feel almost powerless; like prey being toyed with before the predator pounces. The sinking sensation drags you down, your feet feeling like lead and knees threatening to give in. But you push through the fear, determined to find a solution to this mess.

You follow the footsteps further into the forest. Twisting and turning leaving you dizzy with dread. The tracks even appear to do laps and loops around you. Have you gotten lost already? You stop to settle your doubt for only a second before continuing on the crooked path. You remain running, just trying to hold on to your sanity while the sun begins to set. Darkness is falling fast and you'd like to find some sort of shelter before the sky submits to the black abyss.

As the minutes morph into miles, the footprints seem to appear fainter. Almost as if the culprit is floating with softer steps. The footprints then stop completely in the middle of nowhere. Two prints pressed into the dirt drop off into thin air. Nobody stands before you, no noises are heard, you’re surrounded by nothing at all. You lean down to give the prints a closer look and-

“BOO!” A sudden shout sends you to the ground. A shocked scream leaves your lips as you turn around in terror. You look up from your spot, sprawled out on the forest floor to see what seems to be… a boy? His silhouette blocks the sun, hiding his face under a dark overcast. He peers down into your eyes. You’re only able to make out the smug smile that settles itself in the shadows. He gives a soft laugh before asking, “I scared you didn’t I?” There’s a playful tone to his words and while he stares down at you with a smile on his lips and a shine in his eyes, you sit in shock. All coherent words have run away from your mind, leaving you stranded in silence with a stranger.

The boy kneels down in front of you, holding himself up with his hands. Curiosity catches his heart and he moves to poke and prod at the pretty little thing that has fallen at his feet. He brings one hand up to start teasing at your hair. He toys with the loose locks and tugs at it when you attempt to back away. 

“Who are you?” You ask with hesitancy. The boy only continues to pull at your hair, ignoring your question. “You weren’t from the shipwreck were you? I would’ve remembered you.” The boy's attention seems to have been captured by your question.

“You would’ve remembered me? Do you really think I’m that handsome?” He says with a smirk. His hand has stopped still in your hair, now fully focused on observing your reaction.

“No, I just would’ve remembered someone annoying like you.” Although his attractiveness does grab your attention, your sudden irritation at his behavior is much more prominent. Smacking his hand away from your hair, you stand up from your spot on the ground and he’s quick to follow. A faint frown falls on his face. “Are you from here then? Do you know how to help me?” He seems to stare right through your questions, amused by your actions instead of concerned. “Do you know how I can get off the island?”

“Why would you want to leave? Have you looked around you?” He asks in confusion and stares at you like you're stupid.

You tilt your head from staring at him to look at the trees tinted pink. Blushing blossoms sprout from each branch while butterflies flutter around you. The sliver of sunshine that snakes through the treetops shines down on the forest floor. The light reflects off every shiny surface, producing glitter in the air. 

The boy drags you out of your heavenly haze once he takes two steps closer. He leans forward the slightest bit to be on eye level. 

“I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.” His question comes off more demanding than you expected, leaving no room for disagreement. You nod your head to agree and he begins his interrogation. “You said you were in a shipwreck, what exactly do you mean?”

You spill your secrets into the silence. “I’d been traveling by ship for about a week before a storm hit, and well… we went under.” Your voice begins to break off. A shiver crawling down your spine at the recollection of the horrific incident. Water lines your weary eyes, but you blink back your tears before you can get caught up in your emotions. You rub at your eyes rather roughly, ignoring the boy’s intensive staring as you ask your question again. “There has to be some way to leave the island. Are there any boats? Any other survivors?” 

“There might be.” He stares straight into your skull. Almost as if he’s trying to search your thoughts with x-ray vision. Your agitation only seems to grow at his unclear answers. 

“Well, where are they? Can you take me to them?” Your voice grows frantic, clinging onto the frail piece of hope that there might be help for you. 

“What if I don’t want to tell you?” The strange boy seems to gain a sick sense of enjoyment watching you struggle. Your anger rises into your cheeks and a cherry blossom blush bleeds into your face. The boy has to hold back another taunt at the tip of his tongue. 

“What? Why not?!” 

“Why not? You ask too many questions, it’s starting to get on my nerves.” The boy rolls his eyes in irritation. He takes a step closer and you stare up at him through a shocked expression. Before you can yell out your annoyance and anger at his lack of sympathy, he shuts you up with some interesting information.

“And it doesn’t matter anyways, even if I wanted to help you, I wouldn’t be able to.” 

You ask your next question already dreading the answer, “And why’s that.”

“Because no one ever leaves.” He shrugs at the answer as if it’s a simple thing to say. As if he hasn’t broken any inkling of hope you still held dear to your heart. Your heartstrings snap apart and leave a searing pain that lingers. You gaze at the stranger in disbelief, unable to accept his confession. It’s only then that you realize you’ve started to cry when he reaches out to touch the teardrops. He pokes at the pink that lines your under eye, a pout of clumsy curiosity pulls at his lips. 

Beomgyu doesn’t understand how he hurt you, he just knows that he did. Teardrops and falling frowns are not something he’s familiar with, he’s only ever seen them in a man’s last moments. Which is why he can’t comprehend how such simple words can cut you clean. Your heart is like a fragile flower, the blossoming bud burrows deep inside your left breast. But everytime a tear rolls off your cheek, a petal drops dead. 

He’s never had to think twice about his actions. Always being so bold and brazen with his friends that just found him to be funny. But as your strange soul stands in front of him, a sliver of doubt festers under his skin. He tries to retract his answer, hoping that this time the tears will stop. 

“Maybe there might be a way for you to leave.” His mouth is moving before he can stop himself. Why is his heart reacting this way? He doesn’t want you to leave… but he doesn’t want to upset you anymore.

In an instant, that shining sliver of hope blooms back in your heart. “Really? How?” You wipe away your remaining tears. Looking down at the ground instead of his eyes, you try to hide your easy emotions. 

He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should lie or tell the truth. He’s selfish and wants you all to himself, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid. The others would find out about you eventually and he’d just get into more trouble in the long run. One last look into your tear-struck eyes has him making up his mind. “One of my brothers knows a lot more about the island than I do, so I’d have to take you to him.”

“Then let’s go!” You start walking off into the forest. You don’t know where you’re going but you’re eager to reach a resolution as soon as possible. 

“You’re impatient aren’t you? And I hope you know that I can’t promise he’ll agree to let you leave.” Beomgyu scurries on after you, matching your fast pace and walking side by side. His eyes never drift far from your face. They always linger, looking at how unhidden your emotions are. He takes in the way your eyebrows are cinched in irritation, your eyes open wide with hope & hurt, and your lips that fall into a frown at his words. 

“Why not?” You stop walking and turn to look at him. “ Look, I promise I don’t want to cause any trouble. But whether you like it or not, I’m stuck here. I bet you that I want to leave this place more than you wish I was gone, but I need help in order to do that.” Desperation is laced deep into your voice. It borders on begging and for some reason Beomgyu finds himself slightly disturbed by your distress. Your serious tone makes him squirm and an uncomfortable sensation swims in his stomach. 

“You didn’t have to take it so seriously,” He lets out a light laugh, trying to take down some of the tension. “I’m just saying that he’ll probably want to make sure you aren’t dangerous is all. Which I bet you aren’t, I could never imagine someone like you being a pirate.” As if he’s trying to rub salt in the wound, he pokes at your chubby cheeks. Trying to get the message across that you couldn’t be less intimidating if you tried.

You shy away from the boy, turning your head to the side to get rid of his touch. You’re beginning to grow tired of his annoying advances. Immature and uncaring are all you see him as. Really, he’s just a boy. He’s about your age but it’s clear he’s been sheltered from the cruel chaos of the world. Hidden away to live an easy life on this island. But then again, perhaps you’re speaking too soon.

The snap of a twig brings you both out of the silence. Your heads shoot up in the direction of the noise. Only when you’ve been given the chance to look do you realize how fast night has fallen. The shadows swallow you whole. A cloak of darkness covers the sky, drowning out the ashes of the sun. The trees are tangled into one another, twisting and intertwining to create a confusing thicket. The black branches hold hands to ensure that you can not escape.

In a sudden flash of fear, you turn to Beomgyu for a solution. But the once bold boy now appears much more bashful than before. What were once witty comments and playful remarks have been transformed into a stolen silence. It’s so unlike Beomgyu to be without words, but suddenly, he finds himself fearful of what hides behind the trees. After all, when he’s alone with his own emotions, he’s just all bark and no bite.

You take a step back from the bushes, your hand brushing against Beomgyu’s as you come closer. He seems to have the same idea as he follows your footsteps. Further away from the sudden sound and farther into the forest. 

“What was that?” You whisper. 

“I don’t know.” He states simply.

You turn to look at him with a glare, “Aren’t you the one that lives on the island? Shouldn’t you know what animals come out after dark.” Your anger is quick to rise again. You really couldn’t be more unlucky, getting shipwrecked and stuck with the one boy that’s incapable of helping you. 

Beomgyu doesn’t respond, instead he stares at the eyes in the dark. The irises are opposites, one shines like a star, filled with intrigue. While the other burns with an angry intensity, fueled by malice. The glowing eyes grow bigger as the creature comes closer. Silent footsteps travel fast and just before it jumps out of the bushes, you and Beomgyu break into a sprint.

You both run from the creature that crawls at night. It’s an imaginary monster that only exists in this eternal paradise: A Beast bound in blood from its last meal. An animal that runs rampant, blind with a burning rage. A corpse that decays in the dark, a poor past soul who didn’t survive. 

These terrible thoughts run awry in your head. Torturing you with images of mangled monsters and other unknown that hunt at twilight. Tears of terror threaten to fall from your eyes, but you blink them back before Beomgyu can notice. 

The smell of smoke burns through your throat. Taking in lungfuls has you coughing and struggling to catch your breath. Rotten rage is running right behind you. It grows closer, and closer, until all you can think about is the consequences of getting caught. 

A tug to your wrist trips you up and tears you from your thoughts. Beomgyu pulls you up to run side by side. He holds your hand like you might leave him if he lets go.

“Are all humans this slow?” He speaks with exasperation. The subtle slip of unknown information leaves his lips before he can think twice.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” Your outburst of anger and panic is yelled at the top of your lungs. Your legs begin to burn, screaming at you to stop, but this chase will not stop until one of you has won. Either you outsmart the beast by hiding away, or die by being devoured. That thought is more than enough to keep you going. 

Occasionally, Beomgyu steals a quick glance to his side. He can see the tears slipping past your fearless facade. Too embarrassed to admit you’re terrified to the arrogant boy and his relentless insults. Your hand is clasped tight in his. Beomgyu sees how you tremble and watches the tears that fall. A growing bit of guilt begins to settle in his stomach. He had been such a fool. Taking his time to toy with you when he knew nighttime was near. Although Beomgyu shares everything between his brothers, he’s not eager to share your sweet affections. He found you first so he believes he has some sort of entitlement over you. A pretty little plaything that is his to have. Beomgyu has always been reckless when it comes to expressing his emotions. The selfish sin makes him act stupid, and his fatal flaw might be the death of you. 

As you run, fear follows after you. It’s hot on your heels and threatens to tear you apart. The beast is just behind you. You can feel its breath on the back of your neck. Your speed is no match for the monster. Beomgyu must be thinking the same thing, because he sweeps you away to somewhere safe. 

His hands wrap around your hips roughly. No reason to be gentle in this time of distress. You’re shoved to the ground and dragged to a hidden hole in the dirt. Tree roots tangle around both your bodies. They provide protection and safety while the animal continues its hunt from up above. You can hear it sniffing at the surface, searching for where their fallen food ran off to. At the sound of it growing near, you cling closer to one another. Beomgyu pushes himself flush to the tree trunk behind him while pulling you closer to his chest. His heartbeat is erratic. Blood flowing like fear right through him. You can feel the rapid rhythm beating against your back.  

His breathing is barely there. Too scared to suck in a single breath. You’re the exact opposite. Chest raising high with each heavy inhale. You’re beginning to hyperventilate. With your heart clenched tight in terror you’ve begun to lose your mind to emotion. A hand slowly slides over your mouth and for a second you freeze in fear. But it’s just Beomgyu trying to quiet your quick breathing. You turn to look at him. Your vision is blurred by the tears in your eyes but you can still make out the emotion on his face.

Beomgyu tries to hide his fear, he really does, but it slices at his skin until his heart begins to bleed out. His eyes sting with salty tears, they gather at his waterline and threaten to fall down his cherry cheeks. He’s an imitation of you, stuffing away the sadness and trying to hide his emotions. For the first time in a long time, a little bit of fear festers deep in his heart. He never meant to wander so far away from the others, but he got distracted by such a pretty little thing. He was so selfish, trying to steal you away before the others could find you, and now you both sit in an agonizing silence. Inches away from the Reaper’s wrath. 

Truthfully, you don’t have any idea as to what type of animal is chasing you. You just know that it’s a bloodthirsty brute that’s hunting you down to hollow you out and eat your insides. 

Fear is festering in your mind. Your imagination makes up memories of your worst fears. Putting together the pieces to create a bloodcurdling creature. You imagine the unknown monster to have fangs pierced with flesh and rotting red remains. It has bones that are broken free from its ribcage, resulting in the rattling sound it makes with every inhale. Each breath it takes feels closer than the last. They ring in your ears and you swear you can feel it breathing right over your shoulder. 

Ruthless rage is torn from its throat as it lets out a growl in anguish; disappointed it let its prey fall too far. You can hear the sound of its claws digging into the wood just above your head. After its fit of anger, the monster runs off in what you can assume is a search for more meat. You can see its tail end as it trails off deeper into the dark forest. It has a fluffy tail that flicks in irritation. A slight hint as to what monster lurks on this lonely island. The only monster to ever make Beomgyu truly afraid. 

You’re both too scared to make a move at first. You sit still and listen as the monster runs farther and farther off into the forest. After a few minutes, the only sound you can hear is the whistling wind and your heavy breathing. 

But you both manage to bite down your fear and stand up from the dirt. Your head whips around to look at your surroundings, still paranoid that the monster may be somewhere near. With hands still held between you, Beomgyu leads you both down a path in the forest. The trail looks run down, years of footsteps trampling the flowers and grass that grows. You two take your time. You let your legs rest and catch your breath by walking slow. Your heartbeat is now in harmony with the rest of your body, no longer racing with adrenaline. 

Each slow step you take feels heavier than the last. Fatigue is finally catching up to you. The amount of physical and emotional whiplash you’ve experienced today has deeply drained you. You’re too tired to talk or form a single thought, and slowly sleep begins to burden you. But before you can collapse and sleep through a thousand sunsets, a blinding light burns your eyes. 

Four silhouettes stand in front of the sun. That sun being the little bit of light held in their hands. Torches are used to scare off the shadows and drive away the animosities. It also carves out the shadows of each boy’s features. Forever young and flawless faces are all that meets the eye. Their aura demands your attention and you wouldn’t dare to look away. 

Are these the boys Beomgyu had mentioned earlier? If they are, will they welcome you with open arms or turn their backs on the outcast. A wave of unease rolls around in your stomach as the shortest boy steps forward. His big eyes are hidden behind a glare. Your heart burns hot under the heat of his gaze. Chest stinging and speech stolen, you start to shrink in on yourself. The boy breaks through the crowd and closes the distance. Now that there is nothing between you and his icy eyes, you wish you had been killed by the beast.

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[musclefantasytf]

Arabian wish

Hi guys this story is a request from @musclejedi7 , i hope You like it

It was a sunny day on the beach when Jedi decided to go for a walk. As he walked along the seashore, his thoughts were lost in the waves and the sea breeze. But suddenly, his feet stumbled upon something buried in the sand. Looking closer, he realized that it was an old, rusty lamp.

Intrigued, Jedi dug up the lamp and removed the sand that covered it. As he did so, thick smoke came out of the lamp and condensed into the air to form the figure of a large, muscular man. Jedi was stunned to see the man, who had a beautiful face and a perfect beard.

The man presented himself as Ishaq, the genius of masculinity and virility. 'I will hear your deepest desire,' he said with a smile. Jedi was impressed by Ishaq's masculinity and masculine voice, and his body reacted instantly. Ishaq noticed the bulge in Jedi's shorts and smiled mischievously.

Jedi thought of his deepest desire. He wanted to be a big, muscular and virile man, something completely opposite to his current appearance. He made a decision and asked Ishaq to turn him into a masculine and attractive man. Ishaq smiled and snapped his fingers, and red smoke enveloped Jedi.

At first, Jedi felt intense pain as his heart beat. Suddenly, her body began to grow. First, his chest expanded and became two muscular shelves. Then his arms and legs followed the same path, leaving him completely naked and a thin layer of hair appears from the chest to the abdomen.

Then, her skin began to change color, acquiring a darker hue. Jedi felt an intense pain on his face, which was shifting to more masculine and Arab factions and he grows an exquisite beard . Her penis grew overwhelmingly, becoming a thick mastile of meat. Even their balls grew to the size of oranges.

Jedi gasped as his body changed shape before his eyes. He looked at his reflection in the water and realized that he was now an Arab man, tall, muscular and virile. Ishaq smiled as he sucked Jedi's penis, causing it to cum intensely.

Jedi fainted from the excitement and, when he awoke, found himself in a luxurious apartment. He looked around and realized that he was no longer a Jedi, but a famous porn actor and model named Hassan. He looked at himself in the mirror and was surprised at his new appearance. It was all he had ever wanted and he thanked Ishaq for fulfilling his innermost wish. From that day on, Hassan was a star in the adult entertainment industry and always remembered that sunny day on the beach when his life changed thanks to a genius.

[soobnny]

labyrinth — lee minho.

trope. best friends to lovers. college au. slow burn. angst. fluff. a story on second loves.

synopsis. sometimes, the path towards healing involves not only mending your heart but trusting in the love of those who have been there all along, or alternatively, in which lee minho teaches you to love again

word count. 20k words

warnings. drinking, mentions of vomiting, curse words, intoxication, the aftermaths of heartbreak, not feeling good enough

note. hello it’s me again! have this semi self-indulgent lee know fic i wrote

one.

When Mark breaks your heart in the first weeks of summer, Minho doesn’t say “I told you so”. Instead, he becomes your gentle refuge, sitting still and letting you cry on his shoulder. 

He’s careful to touch you, doesn’t want to shake you out of the pretense of composure you’ve built for yourself. Though, it only takes a brush of his hand before the inevitable scrunch of your face that follows into a sob. His hands pull your waist closer, running soothing circles down your back.

You bruise yourself for your naivety. 

In the tapestry of first loves, it’s easy to be bound to the intoxicating notion that he will be all you’ll ever know. When you fall, you think it’ll last forever. The memory of him emerges from around you, slipping in like sand through your feet. Most of it passes quickly, but some moments sink on your skin, desperately pulling you down and forcing everything down your throat—–the sound of ocean waves bathing the seashore when he held your hand, barefoot and laughing, the birds singing from outside the window as you spend the morning in, the scent of coffee in the morning, the sound of laughter in grocery stores, and the feeling of rain dripping down your clothes as you run for the night train where you tell each other everything. 

How are you supposed to forget pieces of him you’ve cemented in your heart? 

Loss is too terrible to grasp at once, especially when unexpected. Especially when you had thought the world of him only to have your heart shattered. 

Pain only stems from the comfort of memories. It snags on you, clinging onto you and reminding you that they will just be memories now. You will only remember him now, remember falling in love over and over again, remember your first kiss and every single one after. You will only remember how he looked at you, with so much love in his eyes, you thought you would last an eternity. 

“I’m going to kill him.” Minho’s voice is soft despite the connotation behind his words. He has his arms firm around you, bringing one hand to pat your hair down. 

“You don’t even know what he did.” You mumble, voice coming out shaky and incoherent from sobbing the past few hours. There’s snot running down your nose and staining his shirt, and your prickling tears still haven’t stopped. His favorite shirt is soaked, but he couldn’t be less bothered.

“He—,” Your best friend pauses, taking a deep breath in. It’s something he does when he tries to recompose himself. “He made you cry.” He breathes out, taking the back of your head and pushing it further into his chest. He doesn’t think he can bear the sight of your tear-stained eyes, doesn’t think he can handle the quiver in your lips. 

“Maybe I just wasn’t good enough. If I was prettier–” 

The words sound practiced in your lips, slipping far too easily that it breaks Minho’s heart to think it must’ve been something weighing in your mind for a while now. He shakes his head rather fervently, carefully peeling your head back from the crook of his neck so your eyes meet.

“I don’t want you to finish that sentence.” His thumb swipes at the tears falling from your eyes, and while Minho hadn’t had the time to switch on the living room lights when you had knocked on his door at close to midnight, you can still see anger swimming in his eyes. You know it isn’t directed to you, know that he’s trying his best to subdue his rage and not drive and crash into Mark’s house right now. 

“He’s going to hell for even letting that thought run through that little head of yours. There’s already barely anything in there, and he dares plant something so painfully untrue?” You notice his lips are twitching in effort of a teasing smile.

Despite the unbearable pain, you can’t help but laugh at your best friend’s words, even though it comes out sounding more like a sob. “My head has a few things in there.” You manage to croak out, and Minho pockets the accomplishment of making you laugh to think about later. 

“Of course, of course. Definitely not differential calculus, but there are a few things in there.” His eyes are soft when he speaks. “One of them is that you’re enough, and it’s that fucker’s loss for letting you go. Want to hear you say it.”

He follows along with you, accompanying you with every word. “I’m good enough.” He nods his head, urging you to continue speaking. “And?” 

“And it’s that fucker’s loss for letting me go.” You almost cry when you say it.

“There you go.” 

Minho pulls you back in his arms, wrapping you in his scent and the entirety of his comfort. He says nothing, only listens to your heavy inhale and exhale. You’ve never been here before, never felt this pain before so he lets you feel your emotions. It’s an ache that doesn’t need to be taught, but is inevitable to learn. 

“Thank you, Min.” Your voice wavers, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m…” An apology sits on your tongue, but you know your best friend won’t let you. He’s picked you up multiple times before–failed tests, college admissions, family arguments, and never once has he let you apologize for crying. “Thank you.” You say through the clatter of your teeth. 

He doesn’t say anything, only squeezes you in his arms. It’s two in the morning now, and Minho can hear your quiet snoring. It’s prominent, sitting louder than the few honks of cars outside. You must’ve barely gotten any rest these past few days. 

Your face is still wet when he lays you down on his bed, pulling his covers over you and letting it fall just by your chin. Minho falls asleep on his small, run-down couch. 

two.

The process of disentangling Mark from you is a lot harder than you thought it would be. The first time you cross off his favorite candy and brand of milk from your shopping list, you sobbed for two straight hours. At one point, when Minho was accompanying you, you had started crying in front of the sweets section and he’d had to whisk you away embarrassingly and calm you down in his car. 

Since the break up three weeks ago, you’ve refrained from doing anything that remotely reminded you of him. For one, you’ve stopped wearing his favorite hoodie, the one tucked away at the back of your closet. You don’t know how to return it to him yet. It’d be too hard to face him when you can barely hold yourself together even by just the sight of it. You stopped viewing his Instagram stories, after making the same mistake a week ago. Minho has told you to block him, but it’s too big of a step to take right away. 

Though, you think the most painful was seeing Juyeon on your way to class. You don’t know whether to greet him or not. He was Mark’s friend over yours, but you’d like to think you’d gotten along quite well to consider him a friend. Though, it seems too much of an overstep towards the boundaries created when Mark had called it quits. His friends will take his side on the breakup, and your friends will take yours. It’s no longer a shared “our” friends. It's just yours or his now. 

The realization stings so badly that it physically hurts you, and what starts as stabs of pain evolves to a dull ache. You crave for the time to come where days without him would feel far, especially when you can’t sit still at this stupid restaurant without recalling your second date and how you’d spent everyday thinking forever of him.

“(Name)? You okay?” Felix’s voice is piercing, reverberating through your thoughts. 

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, sorry.” You swallow, propping your elbows on the table and leaning forward to seem more present. 

“You spaced out a little bit.” He laughs, taking a sip out of his service water. “Is it cause you miss Mark? I know you had one of your dates here.” His voice is teasing, and you shiver a little at the mention of your ex-boyfriend. 

Minho shifts in his seat, scooting a little closer and ghosting a hand behind your chair. He’s looking at you now, unrecognizable expression on his face as he waits for your response. He hadn’t told any of your friends, kept his promise when you had asked him, but he doesn’t like the way you’re cornered into a response. 

“Oh…” You blink, eyes scanning each person from the table before dropping down to your glass of water. “We— we broke up actually.” You swallow again, taking the glass but not quite bringing it up to your lips. 

There’s a recollection of Mark sitting adjacent to you, his voice sodden and repeating. And you don’t like all the eyes frozen on you as you share the pathetic end of a relationship you thought would be everlasting. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Felix feels guilty, voice growing smaller and smaller with every word. You’re quick to reassure. 

“It’s okay. It happens.” You shrug, even though it’s not okay. Even though it wasn’t supposed to happen to you. You were supposed to be an exception to fate's horrible hands. 

Everyone’s eyes buzz, and you know they’re thinking of it. You bite your lip, eyes searching for Minho’s in desperation. For a barrier. For someone to break the pity dripping from everyone’s features. It makes you feel small. 

Minho’s head peps up, smile pulling on his lips as he suddenly claps his hands. “Hyunjin-ah, do you remember the last time we were here?” 

“Why are we suddenly having this conversation?” His friend groans in embarrassment, but rides on the conversation anyway.

Hyunjin pretends not to remember even though he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the shame of mispronouncing the names of the dishes while you, Minho, and Jisung were stifling in your laughter. You’d almost forgotten the way you laughed until your stomachs hurt when the waitress finally walked away after a cruel 15 minutes of asking Hyunjin to repeat himself. 

“The one I ordered was pretty good though. I have a pretty good eye for food.” Jisung joins in on the conversation, heart clenching at the way you quietly retreat in your seat. He’s always had a soft spot for you. 

“Yeah, sure, you have eyes, I guess.” Minho replies without hesitation, which has Jisung dropping his mouth and staring at the boy in disbelief. “Excuse me?” 

Laughter falls in laughter as everyone stares between the two, who are bickering back and forth. You turn to them with a smile on your face, grateful to break away from the impending conversation about Mark. The attention is elsewhere now, and you feel like you can finally breathe properly.

“As if you didn’t order something horrendous too. It was a silly time.” Minho leans towards you with challenging eyes at your input in the conversation. It’s abrupt, the way he suddenly twists his body so he’s facing you, and so Minho-like.  

“You had fun.” He points at you. “You had so much fun. You had fun.” 

“Okay, okay, damn. You’re being really aggressive right now.” You laugh a little, falling back in your seat and pushing his pointing hand away.

“We enjoyed ourselves.” He says one more time as a matter-of-fact, just as the food arrives. The conversation takes a short pause as hunger hits, long arms reaching out to grab as much food as they can on their plates. 

Jisung stares at the variety of dishes, mouth watering as he holds a critical stare–as if he’s about to make life-altering decisions with the food he chooses. There’s everything you could name, variants of chicken and beef and noodles and seafood all plastered on the table. You quietly take a few portions when it looks like no one’s going for the same serving spoon. 

“Oh, oh, yes, try that (Name). I tried it a while back, and it’s so good.” He waves his spoon around, eyes lighting up at your choice and you laugh at the way everyone moves away from the table to avoid getting hit by the splattering sauce. 

Jisung only stops holding you hostage when Chan moves to distract him.

By the time you fill up your plate, Minho is already digging into his food, chewing diligently with furrowed eyebrows. The steak he ordered for himself looks good, and a smirk forms when he senses your prying eyes. He plays dumb, like he always does, slicing the meat in an annoyingly slow pace before sticking his fork into it. 

“Your order looks good.” Your smile is nothing but innocent as you stare at his fork without shame. He mirrors your grin, sly as he picks up his fork. 

“I thought you said the food I ordered was horrendous.” He interrupts, lifting up the slice of meat and waving it around cartoonishly. He is so annoying with his rolled up sleeves and his hooded eyes. 

“That was before. I’ve changed!” 

“No.”

You pout, stuffing a piece of fish in your mouth at failing to coax Minho into sharing his food. All efforts against Minho always end in vain, but you’ve always held pride in the way he takes a second longer to reject you. You’re just about to twist some noodles in your chopsticks, terribly hunched over posture, when a fork is shoved in front of your face.

Minho doesn’t say a word as he waits for you to eat the slice of steak, free hand hovering just under your chin in case the food falls. Your eyes fall on his, horribly failing to hide the smile on your face as you lean forward to bite the meat off. 

“Oh, it’s so good.” You huff, chewing carefully with widened eyes. It’s a close second to the steak Seungmin and Minho cooked for you on your birthday last year.

Though, it’s only taking the Number 1 spot because the criterion was solely based on who made it, and how they took time out of their day to cook one of your favorite meals for you. The taste of the steak in this restaurant wins by a landslide, but you don’t think they can replicate the love put into your birthday steak. 

Minho makes that face exclusive to his friends when he wants to put up mock annoyance at being forced to do something out of his will, like sharing his food, yet everyone’s accustomed to his cold exterior. 

“Have you ever—” Jisung starts after your table becomes a victim of silence, stuffing his mouth with a few chips. He doesn’t finish his thought, though, reaching out for Hyunjin’s glass of water after having finished his before the food was even served.

“What?” Changbin asks the question brewing on everyone’s throats.

“Nevermind. I’m gonna keep it to myself because you guys are gonna say it’s gross.” 

The ongoing conversation falls deaf in your ears. You hate to admit you were too busy weighing your options on whether you should have shrimp or not. It takes you a feverishly long time to peel them, and everyone might as well have finished their meals before you can make it to five shrimps. But the sight makes your mouth water, and you’re stuck at a crossroad. Maybe Jisung was onto something when he had stared at the food earlier, as if it was the most important decision in his life.

“Woah, woah, woah. I peed on a tree recently if that makes you feel any better.” Jeongin says without a stutter in his sentence, and everyone pauses from their meals. “Now, what was that gross thing you wanted to talk about?” He nudges Jisung’s shoulder.

“....Have you ever wondered if there’s snot flavored chips?” 

“Jisung!” Chan chastises as everyone else shares judging stares. Hyunjin is having a hard time holding his laughter, and Changbin almost spits his water out. Minho is too busy peeling his shrimps to give the conversation the time of day.

“We shouldn’t have allowed you to talk in the first place.” Seungmin grimaces.

You’re too immersed in still deciding whether you should eat shrimps or not to notice Minho transferring the seafood he had peeled on your plate. He doesn’t say anything when he reaches for your plate, doesn’t even look at you when you glance at him. Instead, he resumes eating and listens quietly to the ridiculous conversation from his friends. 

“This is why I didn’t wanna say it!” 

“Yeah, you definitely should’ve kept that to yourself.”

The breach of silence from Jisung doesn’t last long as the noise quiets down into chewing and Minho’s quiet yet persistent “eat more” when he sees small portions on your plate. He knows you haven’t been having the appetite to eat lately, but he still makes sure you’re at least intaking a healthy amount to sustain your body. 

An hour and a half later, you find yourself in the passenger seat of Minho’s car as he drives you home. He lets you connect to the Bluetooth, lets you control the music despite preferring to drive in silence. Though, he’s ill-prepared for you to actually start singing.

“You are an expert at sorry and keeping lines blurry, never impressed by me acing your tests—”

Minho groans, briefly gazing in your direction before keeping his eyes on the road. A half second is enough to see you moping with your head leaned against his window. 

“All the girls that you’ve run dry have tired lifeless eyes cause you burned them out.”

“When I gave you control over the music, I didn’t expect you to start playing Taylor Swift.” He shoots you another glance, one hand on the steering wheel and the other just behind your headrest. He’s giving you a judging look, as if he hadn’t blasted Adele when he had his first heartbreak years ago. 

“Deal with it.” You stick your tongue out childishly before turning to your mini karaoke session. “Don't you think I was too young to be messed with? The girl in the dress, cried the whole way home—”

It takes four more songs from your Spotify playlist titled Taylor Swift but you’re heartbroken before Minho’s finally pulling up to the front of your dorm building. You know he’s so fucking done with you, with his eyes closed and head rolled back as he waits for you to finish sulking. He doesn’t kick you out of his car, though. He only crosses his arms with his lips pressed into a bored line until you’ve decided you’re done singing for the night. 

You don’t think you can take the quiet. Without music blasting in your ears, you’re confronted by a suffocating silence. There is no relief when you see how the night sky looks so peaceful outside his car window because why can the night sky bask in calmness while you have to sit there in this excruciating hurt? 

So, you stay there for another two songs. You are too fragile to be nudged right now, and Minho doesn’t think it’s an appropriate time to confront you about the band-aid you’ve stuck to temporarily keep your heart together. 

three.

Time doesn’t stop for your grieving. Everyday, the same sun will mockingly look down at you, reminding you that days would go on without you. That despite the squeezing pain in your sternum, time will not stop for your hurt. People will go on about their days unknowing of your suffering. 

Ironically, while time stops for no one, it does move excruciatingly slow. When you’re in love, time passes by you so quickly that you don’t know it’s the last time. You’re never given a warning. Endings are always so sudden that it makes no sense. When love unclasps its grip from you, days and nights drag on longer, stretching out the pain. There is nothing to do but rot over your break. 

The past two months have felt like a year. It’s strange how one moment you could be in the middle of clinging onto your lover’s hand, and the next it all feels like a very long time ago, and none of it is ever coming back. How are you supposed to cope with the loss of someone you know too much about as life continues to progress around you?

You don’t understand how you’re supposed to endure this. There is nothing to do but to stare at your ceiling until you feel horrible about yourself. 

You’re curled up on your bed like the day before, and the day before that, when the sound of your door opening jolts you awake. Though, Minho’s voice is quick to reassure that a stranger hadn’t broken into your dorm. You didn’t know he was back from his parent’s house. He had even invited you, a few days ago, telling you a change of scenery might do you good but you were pretty adamant on crying through your hurt in your dorm room alone.

“I’m walking into your bedroom. You better not be naked.” Your best friend announces before his familiar silhouette emerges from the dark of your make-do living room. He has his arms folded across his chest as he leans against your doorframe. 

“What do you want?” 

“You’re coming with me to do groceries.” He speaks with vindication, pacing inside your room in search of something for you to wear in your closet. 

“I don’t want to.”

He throws a hoodie to your face, standing by the edge of your bed expectantly. You thrash around for a few seconds, mostly for dramatism, before stubbornly sitting up to wear the hoodie he had thrown at you. “What do I even get out of this? Just let me suffer in peace.”

“Vitamin D.” He’s still hovering. “Your bones are gonna break if you don’t see the sun, and we promised we’d race each other when we’re eighty.”

Your heart rises to your throat at the recollection of when you were seventeen and unaware of what the future would hold for the both of you. It had been some stupid agreement you’d come up with when you had snuck a bottle of soju into Minho’s parent’s house. Perhaps it was the excitement from drinking for the first time or the numbness from losing your grandparent just a few weeks ago, but the alcohol had made you cry. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone else, not your parents, not your friends, not Minho. The introduction to loss was so overwhelming, and you hated how permanent it was. In an attempt to make you smile again, Minho had promised to buy you a house if you could outrace him when you’re both eighty and frail. Prideful and under the influence, you accepted.

“I’m getting that house.” You say with a lazy grit, unmoving from your spot. He laughs, shaking his head as he grabs your hands, dragging you out of your bed. 

“I’m not gonna go easy on you even if you’re old and wrinkly. Now, hurry up. I’ll cook for you if we get back before 4pm.”

“Seafood pasta and steak?” Your eyes light up for the first time today, and Minho lets out a long sigh at your request. 

“Yeah, whatever.” He scrunches his face. 

“And you’ll make it spicy?”

“Hurry up before I take it back and let you starve.” Minho takes his leave, turning his back around heading for your front door as you make it out of your bed in record time. You hate to admit that it’s the first time you’re leaving your house in days. And while you were planning to spend the rest of the break like this, Minho’s temporary accompaniment and the meal awaiting you is very much appreciated. Otherwise, you would’ve let your limited supply of cup noodles suffice and seafood pasta outweighs instant noodles by a mile. 

The trip to the grocery store is short, but it’s enough to play a song and a half. When you arrive, Minho makes a beeline to the frozen section to restock on his pudding. You sigh, bowing your head faintly and following the bunny boy. 

You have to admit, the lighting from the lined up refrigerators does well in making Minho look adorable with his pink nose and a smile that frames his two front teeth. It’s a shame he only ever directs this look to his cats and oddly enough, pudding. 

He throws a few cups in his shopping cart before moving along to another aisle. You match your footsteps with his, walking next to him as he pushes the cart along. The grocery store is dangerous. There are ways to find Mark everywhere. So, you look anywhere but aisles–the ground, Minho’s back, his cart. Anything but his favorite candy and the brand of milk he uses. 

“Want anything?” You look up at your best friend, and he looks at you with pointed eyes before gesturing towards the bags of junk food lining up. 

“I thought you said this was unhealthy for me?” It’s with incredulousness that you look at him. 

“Do you want me to take back my offer?” 

Smiling sheepishly, you reach out to grab a few bags of popcorn and some honey butter chips before adding it to the pile you hadn’t even noticed. It seems he’s gone through half of his grocery list as you stared aimlessly at the ground. 

He tells you to stay there and have a look around if you want anything else, and by the time he comes back, he has two cartons of milk in his arms that he places in his cart. 

You skip past the dairy and sweets section as Minho finishes up. 

“I’m gonna have a piece of chocolate as a treat. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it.” 

“You’re giving yourself a piece of chocolate?” Minho asks, pulling you back by your wrist to stop you from wandering around. 

“Yeah, I think I earned it for leaving my dorm today. I think I earned it.”

“No, you can’t do that.”

“Why not?” You ask defensively. “I don’t understand.” 

“Not good enough reasoning.”

“Oh, but I worked so hard today. I feel like I really earned it.”

Betrayal seeps through your features as you head towards the cashier, and your shoulders sag in defeat as you begrudgingly help place the contents of your cart on the counter so it’s easier for the cashier to scan. Though, as Minho runs to grab an ingredient he’d forgotten for the meal he had promised you, you notice a box of chocolates tucked under his other arm as he returns. The price of the chocolate is added to his total bill, and he doesn’t look at you as he puts it in the shopping bag with your chips and popcorn.

Minho drives you back to your dorm, and you busy yourself with putting his frozen goods in your refrigerator so it doesn’t melt while he cooks. He can take it out later when he goes back to his dorm. 

You admit to being a little useless in the kitchen, so you sit still as Minho shuffles through the ingredients. He looks mesmerizing, save for the Hello Kitty apron too small for him that he had borrowed from you. It does add to his charm though as he moves around like he takes up the whole space of the kitchen. You can tell he’s used to this by the way he moves and the way he uses a knife. He looks focused, radiating. He always has this look on his face when he’s concentrated, plush mouth parted a little with furrowed eyebrows. You’d teased him about it once. 

It’s habit the way he cooks, the way his hand shapes around the knife, the way he chops vegetables and measures in a heartbeat. And it’s pattern that he checks on you once in a while, eyes traveling from the boiling pasta towards where you’re seated on the kitchen counter. From time to time, he walks towards you with a wooden spoon, hand habitually falling under your chin so the sauce doesn’t drip. 

Minho hums in satisfaction when you make a noise of approval, eyes widening as you nod your head with fervor. He turns away, licking his lips as he returns to finishing up his cooking. The sizzling of the pan, the bowl of the water, and your quiet humming is the sound of his heart right now, and he smiles to himself at the visible peace of being in the kitchen. He doesn’t have much time to cook these days. 

It takes almost an hour for him to finish, but it doesn’t feel that way. Unlike the past two months, time moved at a hare’s pace just in this moment, with Minho presently on your heels as he sets the plates down on your dining table. 

“Min, this is so good.” You note at how good the sauce tastes, and how the spice ties everything in. The way Minho prepares food is nothing like the ones you eat at restaurants. It’s better.

“I know. I’m the one who made it.” His response almost makes you scoff if not for the fact that he’s feeding you right now. So, you stay silent as you eat. Piece by piece, bite by bite, that you almost forget the last time you’ve sat on your dining table. 

You prefer to eat your meals anywhere but—the couch, your bedroom, the kitchen floor. The last memory leaves a bitter recollection on your throat. Dinner used to almost always be with Mark. He’d bring takeout and you’d spend the rest of the night updating each other on your days. Then, those nights became sparse and you were left with Facetime calls until they were nothing at all. There’s still a space for his shoes by your doorway, and you have yet to throw away the spare toothbrush he kept in your bathroom. There’s fragments of him in your dorm, and you hate it. 

The past hangs a heavy air around you that you don’t realize the gutted look of heartbreak on your face and the tears slipping past your eyes until you move to wipe them on instinct. You don’t know if it’s the chili oil on your fingertips or the sudden trip down memory lane, but you start to cry even more as you stuff your face with seafood pasta. 

“Is it too spicy?” Minho gently leaves his spot adjacent to you, puts his utensils down in favor of standing by your side. “You okay?” 

He laughs when a choked ‘yes’ leaves your lips before you’re stuffing even more pasta down, chewing animatedly as you try to blink the tears away. Though, when you make a move to rub your eyes, Minho is quick to grab them, pushing your arms away from your face. 

“Be careful. It’s gonna sting even more.” Pulling down the sleeves of his hoodie, he carefully uses the fabric to wipe the tears off your cheeks. He’s gentle with his movements, consciously mirroring your gutted, frowning look in his usual teasing. It makes you laugh, dropping your hands to your sides before suddenly letting out another sob. 

It’s a funny sight, seeing you laugh and cry at the same time and Minho can’t stop the periodic chuckles that escape his lips as you whine out for him to stop laughing at you. It only makes him laugh harder, patting down his sleeves on your eyes. 

“Do you want to keep eating?” His tone is significantly softer when your tears finally subside. “Do you want to finish it later?”

“Keep eating.” You mumble.

“Keep eating? Okay.” Disappearing to the kitchen, he hands you the glass of water, and takes your hand in his to start wiping away the chili sauce from your fingers with a tissue. It’s only when you finish gulping down the water does he return to the seat across from you.

“You’re babying me.” You sniffle, staring down at your food before twirling some noodles into your fork. 

“Because you’re a baby. Stop pouting.” His lips curve into a smirk. “Want some more steak?”

You grumble, and Minho rolls his eyes as he takes the steak he had sliced for himself and transfers it on your plate. “Come on, eat up. I didn’t waste my time cooking for you not to finish my food.” 

“Thank you.” He brushes you off, though, it’s with a small smile on his face. 

“Do you think you can stay here tonight?” You ask in small. Under normal circumstances, he would have called you clingy. It’s the answer you’re waiting to hear when the question slips out of your mouth. You don’t expect him to just hum, answering, “okay”. 

There’s a short pause after his response.

“But only because I know you’ll spend the night crying if I’m not here, and you look stupid when you cry.” It’s his own way of telling you to stop crying. Though, you still sigh for show.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“What, what?” He acts oblivious, and when his eyes blinks, it’s almost caricature. 

“I just love this.” Sarcasm drips heavy, but your heart flutters anyways. You don’t remember the last time you’ve smiled like this, so much that your cheeks start to hurt even if you’d just finished crying. 

“Right!” He grins.

Minho cares in ways that others don’t recognize. You can only see it when you pay attention, can only hear the quiet and gentle underlie in his words. He’s loud with his teasing, but he doesn’t need words for you to know he cares. 

It’s nice to be cared for.

four.

Autumn sends a harsh breeze as it takes over Summer without much of a warning. It marks a shed of the things that had transpired over the previous season, almost a big red button labeled restart. You have every intention to use it well, to usher in change alongside the changing color of the leaves. 

But what kind of heart doesn’t look back?

You wonder, do the leaves hang on tightly to not fall? Do they beg the trees not to let them go, to stay a little longer?

You sigh. The cycle is neverending, and you’ll have to spend the next seasons without Mark. 

“Are you even listening to me?” You’re tugged back to your body at the sudden breach.

Minho’s voice is whiny, plush lips pulled in a pout at having caught you spacing out while he was mid-story. He had made an effort to be especially animate with his story, after numerous previous complaints from you that he was a boring storyteller, only for you not to listen.

“I am, I am!” You’re nowhere near convincing as you defend yourself, trying to recall the last words you had heard from him before you had lost yourself to your thoughts. Something about Jisung and fruit punch? You’re not quite sure. 

It was a horrible idea to try and balance your best friend’s stories with your own thoughts, letting the former slip so easily. Now you’re being called out for it.

“Then what did I just say?” 

“That… you want to buy me coffee?” You ask with a sheepish smile, head tilted slightly to mimic a feigned innocence. 

Minho’s lips press into a line in response.

“I’m sorry!” You apologize almost immediately.

It’s funny the way you give up your act right away, pressing your palms together as if begging the boy to forgive you for your inability to listen to him. You were technically listening, synching your movements with his and staring at the way the words rolled out of his mouth. It wasn’t your fault they had fallen short before reaching your ears. 

“You just lost a point on my friend tier list.” He walks a little ahead of you now, refusing to match your pace in the name of dramatism. 

“You have a friend tier list?” You snort. “That’s kind of lame.” 

“Did you just call it lame? At this point, you’re at bottom place with Kim Seungmin.” 

Your reaction is funny despite shitting on his tier list: mouth dropping, eyes boring on his back as you struggle to keep up with his long limbs, hurrying to catch up to him. 

“Okay, now you’re taking it too far. First of all, I do not bite you so that should nudge me up a spot.”

“If you say it nicely, maybe I will.” 

You know he’s messing around when he starts to slow down his pace, waiting for you to reappear beside him before resuming his walk. 

“No, but seriously, what were you saying?” There’s laughter laced in your voice, elbowing Minho gently to coax him into repeating what he had said earlier.

“I asked if you were going to Jisung’s party later.” 

Minho notes the way your face visibly scrunches at the thought. As if it wasn’t enough, you pair it with a shake of your head. 

“Absolutely not. I hate the taste of alcohol.” You pause, head snapping towards him before adding, “Why? Are you going?” 

His eyes don’t hide his disinterest, narrowing in judgment as you ask him. 

“No. We have a 9am class tomorrow.” He mutters. 

You begin to laugh, always amused by the way your best friend expresses himself, but then you stop. It wasn’t immediately made clear to Minho why your demeanor had suddenly shifted so hastily, as if someone had forcefully switched it, and why your eyes were suddenly glazed. The cogs only stop when he follows your line of sight after having noticed it was drawn somewhere behind him. 

Mark’s butterfly tattoo isn’t hard to miss. It’s so potently his that you vaguely register his hand holding someone else’s. Someone that wasn’t you.

She looks beautiful, so radiant that it almost blinds you. She looks like she has him wrapped around your finger, and you don’t feel that horrible for hoping she’d break his heart the way he did yours. Though, anger is temporary when pain starts to sift through—especially when Mark is looking at her with the same sparkle in his eyes when he used to look at you. 

You try to make the hurt look calculated, the way you will your eyes to draw away, the way you purse your lips. Perhaps you were trying to convince yourself that you were over it, that you were emotionally mature. And while it is half true, there is still pain. No one teaches you how to deal with this. There is no guidebook to tell you what to do when you see your ex with someone else only months after he had called it quits. 

It is difficult to look at them without breaking.

A haunting silence settles, before Minho’s scrambling to break it.

“Ah, let’s go. I’m suddenly hungry.” 

Minho watches as your shoulders slump in relief when he speaks, turning away from Mark in favor of looking at him. “And my legs are getting tired from standing around. Come on.” 

It’s meant to be teasing, but you do not miss the anger in his eyes. It’s always painstakingly obvious when Minho is angry. He didn’t say painful words, never did anything hastily, but his eyes would always tell you he’s angry. They have a look to them, and when they were glassy, you’d know he was angry. 

There’s a tap on the back of your hand before he takes it in his, pulling you away from the scene of the crime. It makes your whole face look up at him, and your heart softens when he offers a small smile. It does something inside of you. 

“Have you eaten anything since lunch?”

You only shake your head in response.

Minho doesn’t say anything at the sudden drop of your mood, though he doesn’t find any pleasure in seeing your attitude change so quickly. He just squeezes your hand in his. And you’re sure you’re imagining the way he intertwines your fingers because your best friend hates skinship. Lee Minho is always so repulsed when you attempt to take his hand, so why is his hand on yours? 

“Don’t think I care about you or anything, but let’s get something to eat first? You know, before we meet up with the guys.” 

You hum in compliance, and also because you know he’s teasing you. His hand feels warm. 

It’s silent for a while, save for distant honks and the echo of your footsteps. Soft, blinking eyes look down at you when you finally make it to the small food stall, tugging on your hand to get your full attention. 

“Come on, get whatever you want.” You lean forward, tilting your head to look at your options.  “I’m not doing this again, by the way.” He jokes, looking down at you. 

Minho doesn’t eat despite being the one who had said he was hungry. Instead, he hovers next to you, hands in his pockets as you quietly eat your food.

“Are you full?” His voice softens when he speaks. 

“A little.” You mumble.

“Okay, now go pay for what you got.” There’s a smug smile on his face when you glare at him, and he only laughs at you when you pull out your wallet from your bag.

“You dragged me to eat here because you’re hungry, and you’re letting me pay.” Your feet hold your ground, flipping through the compartments on your wallet before pulling out a bill—for your pride, more than anything else. 

“Of course! What kind of best friend would I be if I paid? I need to teach you independence.” 

You scoff. “A good best friend.”

Minho is looking at you up and down as you stretch your hand towards the man to pay for your food, mapping out how he can remember this moment. 

“Ah, miss. Your boyfriend already paid.” 

“Huh?”

There’s laughter from behind you, and you humiliatingly turn back around and shove your wallet in your bag before slapping Minho’s arm. He flinches, but his laughter doesn’t stop. 

“Thanks for paying, I guess.” You mumble, heavy footsteps walking ahead of him the way he did with you earlier. It’s touching, really, and there was a nudge in your heart when the man had told you Minho had already paid. Your best friend’s laugh is too maniacal to ignore, though, so your slap is well deserved.

Kim Seungmin’s face is nothing but irritated when you and Minho finally show up to your meeting spot, hand lifting and pointing an accusing finger at the pair of you for being late. The rest of the boys except Jisung and Jeongin are all sprawled on the empty parking lot’s concrete floor, and you can hear a faint mumble from Minho–something about how the ground was dirty for them to be sitting on it. You sort of agree, already cringing at the thought of rubble sticking to your clothes and the prospect of dusting them away. 

“They’re finally here!” Seungmin puts an emphasis on the word ‘finally’, and he’s about to berate you even more when he spots the skewer in your hand. “You guys ate without us?” 

It’s so loud and relenting, but Seungmin’s by your side in a second and opening his mouth for you to feed him the remaining of the food Minho had bought you earlier. You suppose you owe him this much for delaying their wait. You know Seungmin’s not very known for his patience. 

“We’re all going to Jisung’s party, right?” Chan finds himself asking, head perked up as he plays with his car keys between his fingers. 

Seungmin mumbles something incoherent, still glued to your side and still stealing your food. When he moves to grab the stick from you, Minho slaps his hand and tells the boy to leave you and your food alone. It’s like a scene straight out of a sitcom, and all you have to do is stare at the non-existent camera directed at the three of you.

“I don’t think (name) and Minho are?” You hum in confirmation at Felix’s response, spotting him get up from his place on the ground. He asks Hyunjin to dust off the specs of concrete sticking to the fabric of his pants. 

“What?” Changbin’s voice is loud, in contrast to the sooth of Felix’s, and he looks his squinted eyes with yours—as if you had wronged him for not going to the party. “Why not?”

Though, the thought of drinking doesn’t seem all that horrible to you anymore. You refuse to acknowledge it might be because of what you had bore witness to earlier, but it is one-hundred percent the reason why. A drink wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“Actually… I think I might.” Your eyes are still on Seungmin as he finally finishes the skewer you’ve been holding, though, your gaze shifts in a split second towards a shrieking Changbin who has jumped from his spot on the ground at your change of mind.

“Really? Let’s get it!” He cheers, hands clapping temporarily in a way that is so fitting for him. His smile is etched, pulling you towards where the others are. The exaggeration makes you laugh a little, at how something as simple as you suddenly agreeing to drink has Changbin giggling and smiling. You know he’s always loved when you guys hang out together.

Similarly, Felix and Hyunjin are cheering alike.

“So, you’re coming too then?” In the span of time it took to confirm your attendance, Chan has dragged his feet towards where Minho is standing, nudging his side and looking at the boy expectantly. 

Minho sighs. “I guess I’m coming too.”

“I don’t think we’ll all fit in Chan’s car, though?”

Chan’s fancy 6-seater car would have sufficed for them. However, with the sudden addition of you and Minho, there’s a need to adjust the seating arrangement. It seems Seungmin’s realized the problem right away when he hovers by the front seat, basically denying entrance from anyone that isn’t him. 

“Let’s just eliminate people instead. Kim Seungmin, start walking.” Minho is too quick with his response, as if he had already been thinking about it. Seungmin stays unbothered, though, still at his post at being Chan’s passenger princess for the afternoon.

“I can sit on Changbin’s lap.” Felix proposes as Chan unlocks his car. It triggers a sinister smile on Seungmin’s face, and you can tell that whatever he’s about to say next will not benefit Minho in any way after your best friend’s comment earlier. 

“And (name) can sit on Minho’s lap. Okay, that’s settled, let’s go.” As predicted, Seungmin is already seated at the front, tugging at the seatbelt to solidify his position before Minho can stomp on his newly bought pair of converse for revenge at the proposition. That boy and Jeongin really need to cut down on their shoe purchases. 

“Is that fine for you, (name)?” Chan asks, opening the backseat door for you. You nod, not missing the way Minho’s eyes travel to yours in confirmation of your comfort. 

“Is no one going to ask how I feel about this?” Minho asks as the boys start to hunch over and take their seats in the back. Seungmin simply says a ludicrous ‘no’ as he twists his body so he can see the way everyone struggles while he has the front seat all to himself. 

Minho pulls you and seats you on his lap, as Changbin does with Felix. The position is extremely uncomfortable, with your back slouched and your cheek pressed against the headrest of the driver’s seat, but it isn’t something you haven’t done before. In fact, you remember a time when even Jisung and Jeongin were present in this same car. Although, you don’t recall much of what happened, just that your neck hurt so much from being craned the whole ride. 

“I’m not holding you by the way, so if Chan breaks suddenly then you’re on your own.” Your best friend feels the need to inform you, his arms pressed to his sides to offer you no support while Changbin has his arms wrapped around Felix’s torso. 

You know what happens to kids that don’t wear seatbelts. 

“Hyunjin, can I sit on your lap instead?” 

Hyunjin laughs, staring at the two of you before jokingly offering his hand to hold onto. You doubt it’ll be much help. 

The rest of the ride is spent engulfed in Minho’s warmth and the joint scent of everyone’s perfumes which is a little suffocating. And untrue to his words, when Chan does make a sudden break, you find Minho’s arms suddenly wrapped around your waist and tightening around you so you don’t stumble forward. 

Chan mutters something with a smug smile as he looks into the front view mirror, though you can’t hear anything over the loud beating of your heart.

five.

The music echoing around Jisung’s house thrums loudly in your ears. It’s the type of volume that solicits yelling just to hear each other, and you’re unsure if you’re prepared for the amount of screaming you’ll be doing tonight just to be heard by your friends. 

Jisung is the first to greet the seven of you, a bottle of beer in hand and loud laughing as he tugs all of you in for a hug. You can feel his insobriety, can smell it off of him, but he looks so adorable with excitement basically leaping out of him at seeing his best friends. 

Though, his eyes do narrow with a curious brow at the sight of you and Minho who had texted him earlier that you couldn’t make it.

“You made it!” It’s endearing the way his smile grows even more, cheeks protruded as he leans in to hug you. He does the same for Minho, and you can see him whisper something to the boy which earns him a harsh push. You can’t hear it though, and you doubt it’s anything serious when Jisung simply laughs in response. 

“Come on, let’s get you guys something to drink.” He yells over the music. 

The base from the speakers offers a steady rhythm as you navigate your way across sweaty and drunk college students, and it allows you the time to give the space a good gaze. It’s amiable, as expected from Jisung, and he doesn’t seem to have any form of fear at the lack of supervision of his things during a party. Though, you suppose he must’ve locked up anything important down in his basement. 

“Here we go.” He grabs a few bottles for those who ask for a beer, and offers cups to those who want to venture into the unknown mixture of alcohol in the fruit punch bowl. Jisung also apparently has a shot glass, and tells you where he hid the bottle of vodka in case the seven of you want any. He doesn’t want anyone else touching his precious stash of alcohol. Jisung’s lips wrap around the rim of his bottle, chugging down a few gulps, and then he’s pumping his fist up into the air to tell you guys to start drinking. 

Chan and Changbin start to take swigs, popping the cap from Minho’s bottle. It’s second nature to them that they don’t even bat an eyelash. You wonder how many times they’ve done this before. Meanwhile, you, Hyunjin, Felix, and Seungmin take a chance at the mysterious concoction. 

Chan scolds Felix for smelling it, immediately discouraged by the familiar scent of alcohol.

With a cup in hand and a countdown falling from Changbin’s mouth, you bring it to your lips and take a big gulp. The taste is strong, scorching down your throat as you swallow it down immediately the way you’re taught. There’s a tinge of spice, and the disgusting bite on your tongue solicits a scrunch on your face. 

“Oh my god, I actually hate alcohol. Why am I doing this to myself?” You exhale, pushing the cup away from your lips and squinting your eyes in disgust. It’s a mixture of vodka and some type of juice, but it seems they half-assed the ratio of juice so it’s majorly the hit of hard alcohol. You’d kill to have a Cola in hand as chaser.

Felix mutters the same remarks, and you laugh at the way he puts the cup down. At most, Felix is a sweet boy, and he could never swallow down anything as vile as alcohol so he goes to find some more juice to dump into his mixture while you, Hyunjin, and Seungmin force yourselves to empty the contents of your solo cups. 

It doesn’t really take long for the tipsiness to kick in, especially with whatever the hell they put in that bowl because before you know it, everything looks a little hazy and the simple scrunch on Felix’s face has you doubling in laughter. Everything is always funnier when you’re tipsy. 

“I’m definitely hit.” You bite down at your lips, teeth gliding and chewing. You feel nothing but numbness, and that’s how you know you’ve taken more than you can handle. “Min, you should be drinking more.”

“Min, you should be drinking more.” Minho repeats your words, almost mocking. In his grip is his second bottle of beer, and he stands by your side unperturbed by your swaying and your yelling over the music so your friends can hear you better. 

“Are you mocking me?” You’re on your toes, poorly trying to match his height to confirm whether he had repeated your words in mocking or because he can’t hear you properly. You know it’s the former. “Are you serious? You guys heard that, right?”

“Yo, that was so disrespectful. Personally, I wouldn’t stand for that.” Of course, Seungmin is the first to respond. He’s always the one instigating arguments, though, he can’t do it to the best of his ability when Felix is resting his head on his shoulder, grumbling about how awful the alcohol tastes even after he had dumped every juice he could find in Jisung’s refrigerator. 

You almost stumble when you bring yourself back to your original height, and Minho’s arms are around you in reflex. Though, they’re quick to let go so he can laugh at you. “Are you really already drunk off of, like, three cups?”

“Where’s Jeongin anyway? He should be suffering with us.” Felix peels his head from Seungmin’s shoulder, breath intertwined with alcohol before dropping his forehead back, eyes half-lidded.

“Crying over his minor subjects.” 

Your small circle falls into laughter at Seungmin’s response. Minor subjects were hell, especially when your professor treated them as if they were a major one. You could still recall barging into Minho’s dorm to cry over a project. Thinking back, you really could’ve half-assed it and still passed the class.

“Oh, that poor boy. I remember crying over Foreign Languages.” Changbin’s laugh doubles in volume at the memory of Jisung crying while mumbling some Russian gibberish. 

“No, because why would you think to take Russian of all the languages offered? You were setting yourself up.” The way Changbin’s voice cracks at laughing too much is contagious and has everyone clutching their stomachs in laughter. 

“I took German with Hyunjin. What did you guys take?”

“Spanish. I’m actually really good.” You boast, laughter slowing down into broken chuckles as you guys try to recollect your breaths. 

Seungmin passes you your newly refilled cup. “Okay. Tell us something in Spanish then.”

“Si Papi!” 

There’s a pause before all of you laugh your loudest for the night. It’s the type that makes your ribs hurt, bending over with aching cheeks from smiling too much. It even has Minho almost spitting out the beer he had just sipped from his bottle, taken aback by your response to Seungmin’s question. He had spent the night nursing a beer bottle in hand and listening in to your conversations, almost looking bored, though, you always find ways to solicit pure amusement from the boy.

Only you would ever say anything like that. 

Minho has to bite down on the back of his hand to stop him from choking over his own laughter and the beer he had almost spat out. 

“Yeah! That sounds… yeah! You nailed it!” Felix interrupts with more laughter. 

You’d give anything to stop time at this moment. Perhaps it’s because you don’t want to have anything in your mind but the happiness that you feel right now. You allow yourself the time to enjoy yourself, to take away the scorching image of Mark in your head and replace it with the overwhelming volume of the music. 

Hyunjin, who has grown more extroverted after chugging down his cup, pulls you, Jisung, and Felix to where everyone else is dancing. Chan’s gone to look for another bottle of beer while Changbin is singing along to the music at the top of his lungs, your personal karaoke as he sways from side to side just right next to the three of you dancing. Minho is the only one sitting up straight from your group, and while the look on his face can be deceiving, you know he’s having fun watching over everyone. 

When you turn to look at him, he’s already looking at you, unblinking. He throws you a thumbs up with an arched eyebrow and you nod your head before returning your attention to the music and the way you’re jumping around and singing along to 2000s pop hits with your best friends.

Exhaustion hits pretty fast. You can smell the fatigue on yourself after having jumped around for almost an hour. You stumble your way to where Minho’s seated, and he brings your chair closer to you so you don’t drop yourself on the floor. The way you attempt to sit straight is a pretentious act that you aren’t out of it, but you are, and your stomach’s starting to not feel so good. Your blurry vision and the overwhelming lights and music doesn’t really help your case either.

“Minnie.” You hiccup, putting away your cup on the table and bowing your head faintly. “I don’t feel so good.” 

Now the alcohol doesn’t seem that much of a great idea because the after effects are hitting you, and you know tomorrow will be much, much worse for you. At least you were offered a short getaway to stop thinking for a while. The temporary accompaniment was good until it wasn’t.

Minho frowns, having already made his way next to you and helping you up. “Come on, I’m taking you to Jisung’s room. Is that okay? Are you done having fun?” 

It’s endearing the way he asks if you’re done, though you can’t fathom any other form of response except for a grumble and the way you almost collapse into his arms from your wobbly legs. You don’t really remember how you end up on his back, but when you peel your eyes open, you’re moving past the crowd with your cheek pressed against the top of his head. 

“What’s wrong?” Jisung hiccups, making his way to the two of you and helping move people aside so the path towards his room is easier on Minho.

“I think she’s had too much to drink. I’m taking her up to your room, is that fine?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Minho is strong in the way he carries you with his hands on your thighs, crouching down and hoisting you up when you feel like you’re about to fall. When he successfully makes his way to Jisung’s room, Minho makes sure to knock loudly on the door, ear pressed against the door. “Nobody better be making out in here!” And it’s only when silence greets him does he allow himself to twist the doorknob open. 

“Sit down for a moment.” You burp when he places you down, body swaying alarmingly as you move to lay on the ground instead. Minho bends down to sit you back up so you don’t accidentally choke on your own vomit. It’s happened before with Chan, and he is not about to have a repeat. 

“Just let me get a few of Jisung’s clothes for you to change into. And I should probably get you water. It’ll help you sober up, kay?” 

“No, Min… wait!” The sudden movement has you clutching your head and forgetting what you were going to say to the boy. “Ugh.” 

“Are you okay?” He takes a look at your heavy eyelids and your disheveled hair, and the way you hold your head in the palm of your hands. Minho moves from his place by Jisung’s closet to crouch down next to you instead. “Why did you drink so much?”

“Stop scolding me.” You hiccup. The music is more drowned out hidden in the four walls of Jisung’s room, and you know Minho’s teasing you by the tone of his voice.

“I’m not scolding you.” His eyes hold yours, and he speaks softly. 

Your faces are a few inches apart, and even in the hazy way you’re seeing things, you can still admit that Lee Minho is beautiful. His hair is a little sweaty from the warmth of the overcrowded house, and his cheeks are dusted pink from the alcohol, but you know he’s not hit. 

“I think I’m gonna throw up.” You clear your throat before he can say anything else.

“No, you’re not. I am not cleaning anyone’s vomit. Not today.”

Minho lifts you up from the ground, taking you to the bathroom so you’re seated directly in front of the toilet. He pulls the hair tie around your wrist, taking it from you so he can tie your hair up in case you do end up vomiting.

Tears prick in your eyes in your attempt to puke, though nothing but choked coughs come out. It makes you feel pathetic, so much so that you swat away Minho’s hand that’s rubbing your back. You don’t want anyone to look at you like this, teary eyes and hunched over so you bury your face in your hands where no one can see you. 

“I’m so miserable and so unlovable.” You mumble incoherently, banging your head again and again on the wall before it meets contact with Minho’s palm instead. His free hand guides itself across your face, peeling away your fingers so he can see you better.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re not.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m misera—”

“Unlovable. You’re not unlovable.” There’s a pause as he exhales. 

“How would you know?” 

There’s an unreadable expression on Minho’s face when you ask. He looks like someone you’ve never met with the way he stares at you, although familiar. It’s clear that he’s thinking, but of what, you have no idea. He looks so concentrated.

“I just do.” 

He’s so soft-spoken that you can’t bring yourself to rebut. And he doesn’t seem to wait for your response when he bends down to scoop you back up in his arms after making sure you showed no more signs of vomiting. 

“I’m gonna get water. It’ll help you sober up.” He repeats, placing you down on Jisung’s bed and you immediately roll over to get yourself comfortable. Minho notes to change the sheets for the boy after classes tomorrow. 

When he comes back, you’ve already fallen asleep.

six.

“Wake up.” 

Minho’s shaking is unforgiving, peeling the comforter away from you despite your protests. He cringes at the way you grab the pillow, gripping it over your face so his whining would come out filtered and a little mumbly. Though, you fail to consider the way the pillow can easily be yanked away from you, especially from someone like Lee Minho.

His shaking are full-blown shoves now, and his voice is growing louder and louder despite the grumbling from Seungmin who had apparently also stumbled into Jisung’s room and fallen asleep on the floor some time in the night.

“Wake up, or we’re going to be late.” 

The mention of class causes you to abruptly sit up, and Minho is about to drag you away from the bed when you fall back down, hands clutching your head and eyes squinted. “Oh my fucking god, my head.”

Too much is happening for your liking. The trance of sleep is still lingering in the way you blink slowly, and the headache you’re suckling under is hard to ignore. This is what you get for drinking on a weekday when you have 9am classes the next day.

The sight of your disheveled hair and the terribly grumpy look you’re sporting almost makes Minho snort, but he focuses on the mission at hand, and it’s to get you out of your bed so you don’t miss the only class you have for the day.  And, as much as you want to be pissed off at Minho, you know he has your best interest at heart.

“Drink this and go take a shower.” 

You rub your eyes, resentfully sitting up once again with Minho’s helping hand on your back. It’s only now you notice his damp hair, and the way he’s standing there with a plain black shirt and the gray joggers he wears almost everyday–you swear he owns ten pairs. He’s holding a whole pitcher of water too, shoving it in your direction as you blink away the restlessness.  

You drink straight out of it even though the water seems to want to expel out of your body. You’ve had a few drunken nights to learn this, and it’s best that you finish it so you aren’t dehydrated for the rest of the day. Something about alcohol and the way it causes excessive urination which makes you lose more fluids than you should.

There’s barely any time to adjust to real-time when your best friend starts shoving you to the direction of the bathroom, throwing you a pair of Jisung’s joggers when he was in high school and an oversized hoodie that the boy had stolen from Minho. You don’t process how you manage to take a shower with your headache and the lack of sleep, only remembering the way the cold water felt and how relieving it was to brush your teeth to try and rid the scent of alcohol.

“You ready?” Minho runs a hand through his hair before pressing it down, eyes meeting yours just as you stumble out of the bathroom. He already has Chan’s car keys in hand. 

You follow him tiredly, keeping your head hung to try and remedy the aching, all while Minho is gently shaking Chan’s passed out shoulder on the couch. “Channie, I’m taking your car.” The older boy just stirs, hand lifting in approval before it falls limp on his chest. 

“Alright, in you go.” Minho reaches over, grabbing your seatbelt for you so he can fasten it. The position is a little compromising, and he’s inches away from you that you get a waft of his scent. He smells like Jisung’s soap, the same one you had used on yourself. Though, you don’t want to obsess about how close he is. 

When he’s sure you won’t topple over in the case that he breaks, he stumbles out of your space and positions himself in the driver’s seat. 

He doesn’t need to make much adjustments to anything considering he and Chan are nearly the same height. So, he takes the handbrake off and pulls on the gearshift before he’s guiding you out of Jisung’s parkway and towards the direction of the university. 

Lee Minho is attractive as he drives steadily down the highway, eyes never leaving the road. His posture is sharp, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel and turning it in perfect control when he needs to. It’s a little addicting to look at, and you’re sure you would’ve spent the entire duration staring at him if not for the lingering headache that causes you to veer away from your staring and close your eyes instead. It makes you grumble, head falling back into the space between the car window and your headrest.

“You sound like a dying mouse being suffocated by a small knife.” It slips out of his mouth, and even without looking at him, you know he’s wearing a small smirk on his face. 

“...You need to go to a psych ward.” 

You spend majority of the ride trying to recall what had happened last night, not that you remember much. You vaguely register laughing over Jeongin’s demise, dancing a lot, and Minho’s voice while you tried to retch out what you had for dinner over Jisung’s toilet. “What the hell even happened last night?”

“Do you really want me to tell you?” 

“Why? Was I that embarrassing?” You open your eyes for a second to glance at your best friend, though his eyes remain glued on the road. It only makes you whine even more when he nods, shutting your eyes back closed after feeling dizzy over the strain of lights on your vision. “This is why I should never drink ever again.”

“You really don’t remember anything?” Minho tries asking. 

“I remember pieces and chunks of it. I… uh, remember dancing and eating ice cream? Dude, I don’t even know. I think I tried to pick a fight with someone at one point.” You start. “And in the bathroom, when… oh.” You smack your lips together at the sudden memory, a pit in your stomach suddenly forming at the recollection. 

You’re not unlovable. His words ring in your ears, hovering over the honking of cars and the bustle of business outside as people start their days. Did he really mean it when he said that or had he taken pity over your self-wallowing? Was he only saying it to comfort you? He didn’t feel cold when he said it though. While you don’t remember much, you can feel the faint warmth and the gentle lull in his voice when he spoke to you. 

“What?” He eggs you to keep going, but your mouth suddenly feels bitter, pressed together in trial of sealing the words in your mouth. 

It was embarrassing enough to yap about it drunk to Minho last night, you don’t need to repeat it this morning. Clenching your fists, you bring them to shield your eyes, shaking your head. “Nothing.”

“If you don’t tell me, I’m leaving you on the side of the road.” 

You sigh. 

“DoyoureallythinkI’mnotunlovable?” You shuffle out the words as per his request, head tilted away from him so you’re facing the window instead. 

“I literally cannot understand you, please learn how to speak.” He deadpans.

“Do you really think I’m not unlovable? Do you actually mean it?” You repeat, slowly this time, like he’s asking of you. You don’t see the way his grip tightens around the steering wheel. 

There’s a pause, and he’s silent for a moment. You almost regret bringing it up again had you not remembered that this was a usual thing for your best friend. There’s something about him–in the way he presses his lips together, front lip tutting out, and the way he blows his hair away from his eyes and peeks at you for a second before leading them back on the road. It’s indicative of when he thinks, when he ponders over teasing or being genuine. 

“Of course I do.” If you listen close enough, you would’ve heard the way his voice cracks a little at the latter part of his sentence, though it’s well hidden beneath an exhale. “A lot of people love you, (name). The boys love you, your family. I— Soonie, Doongie, Dori too. You aren’t a reflection of what one stupid fucker thinks of you.”

You can’t help the quiet, airy laugh at the way his voice significantly grows softer, free hand patting your thigh for a second before returning on the gearshift. There’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel something inside, a small silver lining piercing through your heart. 

“Wow. I didn’t think you would actually… that you had it in you to tell me that.” Your eyes meet his side profile, and you can tell he’s taking quick glances at you before he heaves a heavy sigh.

“Don’t act like I don’t care about you.” He mumbles, and there’s a little hoarseness in the way he said it. You think you might be imagining it.

“You don’t care about me.” You say as a joke, and almost out of impulse at the way Minho is making your bones rattle right now. Maybe if you moved the course of your conversation somewhere lighter, the rattling would stop.

“I don’t care?” He scoffs, but you can tell he’s chaffing by the way his voice increases in volume. “I… don’t… care?” It’s incredulous the way he says it, mouth dropping as if you had dropped the biggest, wrongful accusation his way. 

“Okay, okay, okay, maybe you care a little. It’s touching that you give me coffee.” 

He hums. “Because for coffee, there’s a minimum order amount.”

You merely laugh.

“That’s right. I guess I’m just a means to match the minimum order amount.” 

“Okay, but seriously, you aren’t unlovable, okay? You’re just sad and a little bit angry. Let’s have some coffee after class, hm?” The pace of the car slows down as he puts Chan’s car on hazard. You recognize the building to be his dorm. His words make you look down at the sleeves of the oversized jacket you’re wearing, stomach tying in knots. “Now, wait here. I just need to get my homework.” 

That surely makes your head spring up. 

“Homework?” 

“The one Miss Kim assigned us last time? You know, when she left class early and had us do a few equations.” 

“Oh my god.” When your exasperation meets his gaze, he laughs. 

“You didn’t do it?”

“I didn’t do it!” You say in panic, eyes widening as he hurriedly jogs into his dorm room to grab the paper hanging on his desk before he shoves his answered worksheet to you. You catch it, immediately rummaging your backpack from the day before for a pen and paper so you can start copying off of Minho.

You don’t finish by the time you make it to your building, and Minho has to push from behind you as you look nowhere but your paper. You don’t even realize you’ve made it to your seats until your best friend pushes you down to sit while he mindlessly scrolls on his phone.

“Minho, Minho, Minho.” You don’t look at him as you call his name, still scribbling down numbers and equations you don’t understand. “If she comes in, please distract her. I’m only halfway done, please, please, please.”

“What do I get in return?” He cracks a vexatious grin, one you want to wipe off his face so bad because of course he’d find a way to profit off of your suffering. He puts down his phone, fixing his gaze on your hunched over figure with the same stupid smirk. You almost want to stab the pen in his eye.

“Please, I would take back every insult I’ve ever said to yo— Actually wait, you’re the one that insults me. I’ll forget every insult you've ever said to me if you do this, please.”

He sighs, body falling limp on his chair in defiance. He’s acting like a three-year-old when their parents don’t get the toy they’re begging for in the mall. “You’re taking me to that cat cafe that just opened.” 

“Fine, just do it.” You respond harshly. 

It’s with perfect timing that Minho arrives at the entrance to your classroom, just as Ms. Kim walks in and the students start going back to their seats from having gossiped with their friends. This prompts you to look over at your best friend, seeing him pull out his phone and shove it in your professor’s face. You would have laughed if not for the homework that’s staring at you maniacally. You try not to fuck up your numbers. 

Minho glances up at you from time to time, and when you’re still bent over the table, he knows he has to keep scrolling through his photo album appropriately labeled Soondoongdori. You better be paying for his coffee later in exchange for the stupid things he does for you on a daily basis.

“Don’t you have a cat too, Ms. Kim?” He asks, tone sickeningly sweet as he forces her to look at another video of Doongie meowing in front of his door. In the first minute, it’s actually kind of cute and sweet for him to show her endearing photos of her favorite animal. That is, until six more minutes pass and he’s still showing her photos when she’s supposed to have started class by now. 

“Oh, wait. But look at Soonie and the hat he’s wearing.”

“Lee Minho. I appreciate you showing me photos of your own cats, but please go back to your seat so I can start the class.” She tries to keep an even tone, and Minho all but smiles in faux innocence as he finally returns to his seat next to you just as you finish. “I’ll send you a Google Drive if you’d like!”

She dismisses his offer.

“Alright. Pass your homework.” Ms. Kim announces, and you let out the sigh you didn’t know you’ve been holding as Minho takes both of your papers from you so he can put it on your professor’s table as instructed.

“You’re paying for my coffee.” He whispers threateningly, chucking his phone back into the pocket of his sweatpants before crossing his arms and relaxing in his seat in preparation for your 2-hour lecture. 

You would’ve thrown him a gentle punch in retaliation for attempting to steal money off of you, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Lee Minho is your lifeline, and you’re sure you would’ve dropped out of college if not for his constant nagging and the way he saves your ass every single time you need it. In fact, you were fully convinced you would’ve fallen prisoner to your breakup if not for the way he forces you out of your dorm to do something as simple as grocery shopping or eating dinner with him. 

“Alright, fine.” You say, turning your attention to your professor as she begins her powerpoint presentation. 

You risk one last glance at your best friend, lips jutted out the way they do when he’s concentrated and bored eyes directed to the front. It’s awkward timing to be grateful for him while your teacher rants about something, but it can’t be helped. 

It’s uncommon to come across a Minho in your life. Perhaps all the reincarnations of you before had suffered tremendously for the lack of luck on having Lee Minho, so you suppose the price of coffee will suffice in hinting at your appreciation for the boy for the lengths and hoops he goes through for you. 

If you’re lucky enough, maybe you’ll get him again in your next life.

seven.

The Cat Playground is a cafe that recently opened a month ago just outside your campus. You’ve been meaning to head there for quite some time, however, the initial buzz of a newly opened establishment is terrifying. Whenever you and Minho had passed by it, a truck load of people were filling up the space, and you really didn’t want to stress out the kittens. 

Though, it’s a little more bearable now that people have gotten over that fizzle. As promised, you take him to the coffee shop for the “embarrassment” you had put him through earlier this morning. Plus, coffee will do the light dizziness you’re still nursing. 

The inside of the small building is cold, though the sun does a wonderful job reflecting through the huge glass windows to perfectly balance the temperature. You coo instantly at the sight of the cats, pacing around and jumping to sleep in their little wooden cat houses. There’s a sort of friendliness the place houses that’s striking to you. The paintings lined up give the place a character of its own, pillows on the floor and tables surprisingly stout. You suppose it’s so that it’s easier to play with the cats, though, there is space in the back with normal-sized furniture. You don’t pay it mind. You know exactly where you and Minho will be seated. 

You continue to walk a few meters as Minho lines up for the both of you, instructing you to find a seat. The closer you got to where the cats stayed, the more you could distinguish their scent, and there are a few toys sticking out that only look familiar to you because Minho has them back at home for his own cats. 

Though, a sharp squeeze turns in your sternum when you spot an empty space only for a huge butterfly painting to decorate its wall. Your throat dries up at the sight.

Oh.

You contemplate whether or not you should just suck it up and sit here, eyes unmoving from the painting that you don’t notice your best friend until he places a hand on your shoulder and pushes you past the painting towards an empty space not far away. 

He drops on a beanie bag right away, hand outstretched to start calling the attention of the cats. They come stumbling in, purring loudly and situating themselves by your feet. You wonder if they can sense cat owners, almost convinced they can by the way they comfortably sit by Minho. 

One of them jumps on his lap, patting down on his stomach before flopping down to lay down. On instinct, Minho reaches out to rub its head, moving down to its chin and neck. “What are you doing on my belly, hm?” He mumbles, leaning down to bump his nose with the cat’s. 

The sight you’re subjected to makes your heart soften significantly. 

“Your order is horrible, by the way. How the hell do you drink that?” Minho laughs, face scrunching in faux disgust when you start sipping on your drink. It has way too much cream and sugar for your best friend’s liking. You simply roll your eyes. 

“You literally drink straight black coffee. I don’t know who thought that was good for human consumption. Ahh—” You’re immediately distracted by the cats passing by you, trying to coax them to come to you but they don’t. You pout, holding both your arms out to the little group settled around Minho. “They don’t like me very much.” 

“They don’t?” Minho coos, eyes full of mirth as he reaches down to one of the cats. A british shorthair. “Can you go to her and make her feel better, hm? She’s being a little sulky right now.” 

On command, the little kitten paces towards where you’re seated, hovering around you before you finally scoop the little boy in your arms and place him on your belly, mimicking Minho. Your eyes fall towards the cat before making contact with your best friend’s, big smile on your face so much so that the apple of your cheeks are visible. 

“See, they just needed some time, but they like you too.” 

The softness in Minho’s gaze takes great effect in whatever the hell you’re feeling inside that you have to avert your eyes back to the small cat lounging on your stomach. This cat, and Minho, and the hot coffee waiting for you on your table makes you so overwhelmingly happy, as little things often do. It’s new, this feeling of contentment. 

It’s quiet and nice to just be with your best friend, and the cats, and your coffee. They make you feel like everything will only get better from here on out, make you realize that sometimes happiness is this simple.

“Mark didn’t like cats very much.” Your voice softens, hand scratching the kitten’s head. “So… this is nice.” You mumble the rest of your words, but it’s at the right amount of silence that Minho still hears you. 

“Hmm… should’ve ended things right then and there.” He murmurs.

You laugh at his response. “I should’ve. I hate that I can’t— like some things will never be the same.”

Minho scoots his seat closer to where you are.

“Like what?” He asks.

“Like—” You sigh, biting your lips and staring down on your lap. “You’re gonna say it’s stupid.” 

Minho raises his eyebrows, not diverting his gaze anywhere but on you. “Only if it is.” 

“Like butterflies.” Your shoulders slump, and there’s a dejection in your voice. “We were gonna sit there, but then it reminded me of his stupid tattoo and I just… He took away something beautiful from me— I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” He places his hand over yours, stopping you from fiddling with your fingers. The contact makes your heart jump. “Do you think it’s something you can regain?” 

You look down at his hand on yours, carefully taking it to play with the ring he wears, pulling it out and pushing it back in. When you look up at him once again, you’re met with his softening stare. 

“I want to… I hope to. It doesn’t hurt as much when I buy milk.” 

“That’s good. Hopefully, you’ll be able to feel that more than you feel haunted by it.” 

You swallow, nodding your head. “I’m trying.” 

Minho doesn’t say anything else, taking your order from the table and handing it to you so you can satiate your thoughts temporarily with the taste of coffee. Then, he positions himself next to you so you can rest your head on his shoulder the way he knows you want to. It’s quiet, aside from the gentle chatter of those around you and the purring of the cats walking around. Minho still has a cat in his arms, his knee would nudge yours from time to time just to check on you. 

Then his phone rings. It doesn’t look like he wants to make a move to pick it up, groaning at the sudden breach of his peace. Sighing, he finally picks up the call and presses it to his ear just as the cat hops off of his lap. 

“What? Don’t call me if you don’t need anything.” He hangs up just as quickly as he picks up the phone and you laugh a little at the abruptness and his urge to return to the moment with you.

“Min?” 

“Hm?” He hums, pocketing his phone and turning to look at you. The sound of his name falling from your lips always makes him perk up like this. 

The irritation on his face has dissipated, and he looks at you with nothing but gentleness. You treasure these moments with Minho. He might not look like it, but really does care about the people around him. You’re lucky he let you into his circle.

“Thank you.”

You don’t need to specify for what. He already knows. 

eight.

Finals season for the semester marks the arrival of winter, sweeping in mounds of snow. 

Your university is blanketed in white, frosted windows as students hurry towards their next exam wearing layers upon layers of coats. The winter’s breeze settles heavy, harsh winds nipping at your dorm window. Though, you can’t quite hear the frigid weather over Minho’s unabashed laughter, meshing with the chilling winds outside. It’s so infectious, that if you hadn’t ensnared yourself into this situation, you would’ve been laughing with him.

“Will you stop laughing?!” The perplexity etched upon your face only seems to make Minho laugh harder, one hand clutching at his stomach while the other grips tightly around your notebook. “Minho, I am going to fail!”

You drop on the ground, piles of papers and notes surrounding you. You suppose this was on you for mistakenly thinking your Calculus exam would take place after your winter break, only realizing it was actually in three hours when Chaeryeong had texted you with a picture of her notes, asking you if it was included in the coverage for the exam later.

You called Minho in a panic, knowing he had taken this class a year before. However, when you had told him of your predicament, he had fallen into a fit of laughter. He knows your distress is genuine, yet he can’t help but find it funny. This would only happen to you. 

With your face buried in your hands, you kick your feet around messily, akin to a child denied of things they wanted their parents to buy. 

“Get up. Come on.” He interrupts himself with more laughter, kneeling down next to you and slapping your legs so you can get his message. “Get up, we can do this! We still have three hours!” 

“I didn’t know the exam was later. I thought it was after the break.” Your muffled cries are punctuated by Minho's choked laughter. He’s still shoving your legs, persistence heavy until you actually sit up from your place on the ground. 

“Focus!” Minho’s laughter finally subsides, eyes scanning over the pages of your notes. “Okay, you know how to write polar equations in parametric form right?” 

“Dude, I don’t know.” 

“Oh my god, you’re actually so fucked.” 

“Minho, please!” There is no way in hell you can scold the boy. You need his help. Otherwise, you’d have to fail your exam without so much as an effort to even get a passing grade. And you were not about to retake this class next semester. 

He’s laughing again. “You can use the standard transformation from Cartesian coordinates to polar coordinates. Come here, look at this.” 

He finishes up writing out the equations and formulas on your notebook, propping it up for you to see better. “You just have to memorize these, and you’ll pass. I swear.” 

“This is so ridiculous.” You whine, grabbing the notebook from his hand and staring at it as if your life depends on it. You’re desperately wishing you had just checked on your schedule again, clarified with a classmate, absolutely anything that could’ve gotten you out of the hell of cramming formulas you don’t understand in three hours.

“You’re a lost cause.” 

Minho flinches when you attempt to hit him with your notebook. 

“I know I am, but one of us has to be optimistic and as my best friend, you’re going to be playing that role.” You drop your head back down on the floor, although the collision isn’t as harsh when your head makes contact with Minho’s head. 

“Why are you trying to hit your head? You’ll lose everything you have left in there.” His eyes are mirthful, and you know there’s laughter brewing at the tip of his tongue. 

“Minhooooooo!” You whine.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you. You’re probably going to fail this test. It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, but there’s just nothing we can do about it now. Besides, you still have that final project, right?” You feel a section in your brain twitch and Minho lifts his hands up when you direct a chilling glare at him. 

“Maybe Seungmin can be my new best friend.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Minho!”

“Okay, okay! Memorize the formulas and you’ll at least pass.” 

You do better than you expect, and it’s all thanks to Minho’s stupid list of formulas.

nine.

You hate that it hits you randomly. 

It had been 2 months since you last saw Mark, back when you had gotten so drunk at Jisung’s party. The pain isn’t so much over him, but the powerlessness that you feel. You’re sure you’re over him, but insecurities are so hard to banish when the breakup acts as a fuel to send everything in flames. 

When you feel this way, something as easy as your bracelet snapping can set you off. It’s a silly thing to be worked up over, but you are. 

It’s how you find yourself in front of Minho’s dorm, nose red from the nipping snow and snowflakes littering your eyelashes and your hair. There’s visible puffs when you breathe, and you’re sure your tears have frozen over from the harsh winds, though the tug of the breeze does nothing to hide how swollen your eyes are.

Snow pollutes your vision, and it’s a little difficult to trek through the heavy snow, but you make it to his dorm building. He doesn’t expect to find you crying in front of him at eleven in the evening.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His voice wavers, gently tugging you into the warmth of his dorm room. He positions you by the heater, grabbing the blanket he had been using and wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Min…” You try to speak, but your face almost breaks.

He sucks in a deep breath at the sight. “Don’t cryyy. It’s okay, come here.” 

Minho dusts away the snowflakes on your hair, tugging you to sit on the couch. He’s careful with his steps, guiding you forward as he walks back. 

“Be careful, the floor’s slippery. I just mopped it.” He brings his palms together, rubbing them and blowing into them before resting them on your cold cheeks when you’re finally seated on the couch. There’s a prominent furrow to his eyebrows, but his eyes are soft. 

“It’s broken.” Your face twitches, staring down at your clenched fingers. 

“What’s broken?” He murmurs, hand wrapping around your wrist to bring your fist closer to him. 

“My bracelet. It’s…” You have to bite back the sob that bursts from your throat, opening your hand to reveal the broken string and a few beads that had fallen off when it had snapped earlier. You’re feeling so much—embarrassment, frustration, everything. 

“Okay, it’s okay.” He draws himself closer to where you’re seated, wrapping the string around your wrist. “I’ll fix it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Your vision is distorted as Minho ties the string around your wrist, head hung inches away from yours as you stare down at his hands. His elbow nudges your chest gently as he works on your broken bracelet, and you can feel a few strands of his hair tickle your cheeks at the proximity. 

“Is that better?” It’s temporarily fixed, string tied in knots just enough so it’s clinging onto your wrist but it’s enough. “See, all fixed now. Nothing to worry about.” 

At his words, you start to break into another silent sob, face scrunching as you bow your head so he can’t see you properly. Your free hand goes to fiddle with your temporarily fixed bracelet, sniffling as you feel a few tears dripping down and sinking into the skin of your arm.

“Hey, look at me.” Minho coos, but it only makes you cry harder when you finally lift your head to meet his gaze. You wipe your eyes with your sleeves, taking in a deep breath as you struggle to keep eye contact. 

“Have you eaten dinner?” 

You shake your head.

“Do you want to eat now? I can cook you something really fast.” He whispers.

You sniffle, blinking back your tears until you can see him enough. “Okay.”

Minho rushes to the kitchen, leaving you with the rabbit stuffed animal you had given him in your senior year of high school. He says it’s to keep you company while he cooks, and that you should take in slow deep breaths with Leebit.

He does return fast, bowl of hot food in hand that he blows into before handing it to you. “Careful, it’s hot.” He blinks at you, voice as soft as you had heard it that time you had cried over his spicy steak and pasta. 

“Good?” You nod, chewing into the food slowly. There are still tears bunched up in your eyes, but they don’t fall anymore. 

“Of course it is.” There’s a teasing edge to his voice as he leans forward to brush your hair out of your face, soothing it down, and it makes you laugh a little like it did before. 

The boy reaches forward, decides to wipe a stray tear away as he sits cross-legged beside you on his couch, eyes staying on you as you continue to quietly eat the food he had made for you. There’s still a lingering feeling in the pit of your stomach, but Minho makes you forget about that.

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out shaky. “I don’t— I don’t know why I was crying.”

“Oh, this poor baby.” There’s an intonation in the way he speaks, setting down your empty bowl on the table as he pulls your head to rest on his shoulder. His heart clenches at the way you instantly succumb, eyes dropping from exhaustion as you nuzzle your head on his shoulder.

“Stop babying me.” You whine. “You always baby me when I cry.”

“You make it so easy, though.” He murmurs.

A warm hand comes up to your chin, stroking it like he would a cat. And you don’t understand in the slightest, but it lifts a pressure off your chest just being here with him. It feels familiar here with him, so comfortable. You’ve always been made to think that crying makes you weak, but it’s never been a problem with Minho. 

You’re thankful for exactly who he is, and for offering a type of relationship you would have only dreamed of when you were a child. He makes you feel easy to love, that you don’t have to try and make yourself digestible so people will love you more. 

You’ll do what makes you happy, and that’s all he’ll ever ask from you. 

ten.

You spend the night before New Years at Minho’s dorm room. 

He’s out buying a few things for dinner, and he comes home to you staring outside the window. Your lips are parted, like you want to ask him something, but no words come out. He lets you be, feet waddling to stand next to you as he tries to see what’s outside that has so much of your interest.

“What’re you looking at?” Minho stirs, piping down to try and see things clearer, but all he sees is snow. 

“Why? Are you so interested in the things that catch my eye?” He looks down at you with a judging eye, lips drawn together into a line. 

“I’m going to stick my fingers in your eye.” 

“I wanna go out and play in the snow.” He knows the question hanging in your statement, knows you want him to come out with you. But he also knows that you know he’s not the biggest fan of winter, and the heavy snow, and how it’s prone to make someone sick. 

“No.” Minho responds, moving away from the window to start arranging his groceries in the kitchen. You drag your feet to follow him, pouting up at him. It’s manipulative, you’re trying to manipulate him with your stupid pout, but it isn’t working. 

“Please! I wanna go outside, and it’ll be boring to play in the snow alone!” 

“I know a really nice place where we can go.” He suddenly grins, the kind that meets his eyes in a haunting manner, but you know him better than that. You know exactly what he’s going to say.

“You’re gonna say this dorm, aren’t you?” You mumble. “Okay, fine. I’ll just go outside alone.”

“Really? Great thinking!” Minho laughs directly in your face, and it only makes your pout grow. Even reserve psychology isn’t working on him. 

“Minhoooooo.” You whine, tugging at the ends of his shirt and smiling bright at him—almost as if a politician begging for his vote. 

He finishes putting away his groceries, head hung back as he lets out a sigh. “You are such an old woman. Fine, let’s go.” 

“That’s the spirit! You know, I think this should be your year of yes.”

“I say yes to everything though.” 

“Yeah, but like begrudgingly.”

“And that’s the best I can do. Now hurry up, you’re taking too long.” He’s already waiting for you by the door, arms crossed as you struggle to put on your coat and your boots. 

When you attempt to run outside, he tugs you back before grabbing an extra pair of gloves for you to wear. You smile at him thankfully before running outside and instantly dropping to start playing with the snow. Minho stands by your side, watching as your eyes stay focused on the falling snow. It’s an endearing sight, the way you crouch down and gather as much snow you can in your gloved hands. 

He’s not too eager for the season as much as everyone is, doesn’t find the appeal in freezing your ass off, doesn’t have the time to scoop away the snow just to get his car out of the driveway. He’s almost everything that you aren’t. Though, he thinks he can make an exception by the way you excitedly show him the snowball in your hands. You look like an example of pure, unadulterated happiness brought by the season, and in the moment, Minho sees why people enjoy the snow so much. 

“Alright, come on, let’s build a snowman.” Your head snaps in his direction, smile so bright that you have to bite down at your lips to hold the giggle that’s trying to escape your mouth. A winter ago, you had complained to him about how Mark never wanted to build a snowman with you. He had taken his side at the time, having hated the snow himself.

“Actually?” Your eyes are wide as you ask him. 

He thinks you look like an idiot as you drag him to where there’s a few piles of snow, but he’ll be mute with amusement as you actually start to build one together. He travels the distance of where you are to his dorm twice just to grab a carrot and buttons for eyes as you scour around to look for a few sticks as arms. It’ll be worth it when you jump back in amazement at the snowman you had built.

To be frank, Minho thinks it looks a bit scuffed. His arm is about to fall off, and his head is way too small in proportion to his body, but he watches with an unconscious grin on his face as you excitedly take photos of the snowman. 

When your face starts to flush red, Minho ushers you back inside his dorm. “Let’s get back inside. It’s time for you to go into the oven.” 

You laugh.

“Thanks for coming out with me.” 

He clears his throat at the sudden sincerity. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

You jump back when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. It’s his silent revenge for you dragging him out into the cold he dislikes so much. “Your hand is so cold! Get it away from me!”

“Ah, I must be passing away soon. My temperature keeps dropping.”

“Can you stop saying stuff like that!”

Minho laughs at the way you throw the gloves you had worn at him, a cute string of chuckles with his habitual ‘ah’ right after. He catches it with ease, setting them aside on the table in case you feel another sudden spur to go outside. 

He makes you hot chocolate a few minutes later. Another begrudging yes upon your sudden request. Leebit keeps you company as he cooks up something for dinner. 

eleven.

Winter settles heavily, and you’re handed the hot chocolate you were promised. You eat dinner over quiet conversations, new year's resolutions spilled after small sips of the wine Minho had opened. Though, around an hour before the calendar restarts, his voice falls mute in your ears. You just nod at the right times, smile when he does, and focus on the way the words fall out of his mouth.

This is the most relaxed you’ve ever felt. 

You suppose you should feel guilty for your inability to listen to him, but there is something enchanting about the way Minho laughs. You didn’t know it looked as beautiful as this, starting from his throat before bubbling out in a boyish chuckle. You would’ve never noticed otherwise.

The moment only unmutes itself when he pinches your arm. 

“Ow!” You yelp, drawing your hand back. “What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening to me anymore.” He whines, setting his empty wine glass down.

“I’m sorry, I’ll listen now. I swear”. You laugh, staring down at the space between your thighs before looking up at your best friend. He’s wearing a pout, but you can tell there’s a small smile threatening to pull at his lips. 

“Was just talking about how we should ruin children’s dreams by telling everyone Santa Claus isn’t real.”

It’s such a Minho thing to say, and you can only laugh at the boy fondly as he pushes himself to his feet. You’re about to ask where he’s going when he tells you to wait a second, disappearing into his room with a purpose in his eye. Though, when he comes back, he says nothing as he resumes his place next to you.

“Close your eyes.” He finally says. 

“Why?” 

“Just close them.” 

“The last time you let someone close their eyes, you had violently shoved tissues down their mouth.” You accuse, recalling the time when Hyunjin had fallen victim to your best friend’s antics. A smile ghosts on his face at the memory. He truly is a psychopath. 

“I don’t have any tissues on me, so close your eyes before I shut them myself.”

“Jesus, alright, I’m closing them. How have you gotten away with this behavior for years? You should be locked up somewhere.” You joke, finally shutting your eyes. 

“Give me your hand.”

“Minho, I swear to God, if you put a bug on my ha—”

“Give it to me.” He interrupts you, taking your hand. You feel a weight being pressed down on your hand. It’s light, and it feels a little scattered. 

“Alright, open your eyes.” 

You feel yourself freeze momentarily, staring at the bracelet on your hand. You had expected him to pull some sort of gag, to put a fake plastic bug on your hand, not a bracelet that looked identical to the one you had broken almost a month ago. It leaves you speechless, looking up at him but he instantly breaks eye contact. 

Minho is looking down at his feet, scuffing it around his floor. His lips are parted like he wants to say something, but it looks a little hesitant. Pondering even. And he does intend to say something, but of the thousands of words he has learned from the day he was born up until this moment, he doesn’t think he can find the right words to say to you.

He still tries.

“I know that Christmas is over, but it took me a really long time to find the exact one you had broken.” He settles on something teasing. It’s what he knows best. “I know, I know, I’m the greatest best friend in the world.”

You look down at the bracelet that he quietly wraps around your wrist. You can only blink, frozen in your spot. He’s wordless as he encases it, and it’s only now you see that something’s different about him. There’s a small butterfly charm sitting at the center, beautiful and dainty. Your heart squeezes.

“The butterfly…” You start.

“Is to regain it. No boy has power to take away the things you find beautiful. I hope… in this way, it can be yours again.” He finishes for you.

You’re sure the nudge in your heart is easily seen in your expression. His name falls from your mouth, looking down at the bracelet before back at him. He looks so beautiful. His smile is too pretty, hair too soft. It’s hard not to look at him. It’s even harder when he does things like this, little by little making your heart feel whole again. He introduces you to a warmth you’ve never known. 

“What’s with that face? Don’t get emotional. I’m not saying this to move you.”

His response makes you laugh when he says it because it’s just so him, but even his words contradict with the way he’s holding back his smile.

10…9…8…

There’s silence right after your laughter subdues and you hear nothing but your muted breathing.

“I’m really happy I’m spending New Years with you this year.” 

He makes you feel like flying that it feels like you need to hold onto him to keep you grounded. With bated breath, you lean forward and wrap your arms around him. It’s hard to express how grateful you are for him, so you hope that your thoughts get closer to his heart if you hug him like this. 

Minho jumps back in surprise, hand gingerly resting against your hip for a split second before wrapping his arms fully around your waist and pulling you closer to him. His fingers dig into your skin gently in a warm embrace. 

7…6…5…

Minho’s gesture is still taking root in your heart, everything he’s done for you from the moment you met, and all the things he continues to do. It’s all still processing in your head when something registers in your head. Blood rushes to your ears at the realization. This can’t be right. 

A million thoughts rush through your head. Maybe it began with a few brushes of contact, so fleeting that if you blink, you’ll miss it—a hand on your back, a shoulder brushing against yours, thighs pressed together. Maybe it was in your stomach, the butterflies fluttering around that you had thought you’d imagined. Maybe it was in your heart, in its constant thrumming and the unidentifiable nudge you felt once in a while.

4…3…2…

You look up at your best friend, taking a good look at the small smile on his face. When he catches you staring, his mouth morphs into a smirk, but it doesn’t look as teasing as it usually does. His features are softened. You think it might be in how gentle his eyes look, gaze so soft. 

There’s a look on his face when he looks at you, and you only realize it now—the look he reserves for his cats, and his stupid pudding. There is no better feeling than having the hope of reciprocation.

1…

“Happy New Year, loser.” He mumbles, and the way he’s smiling down at you right now could mute all the fireworks decorating the sky. 

Oh no. 

You’re falling in love again. 

twelve.

Spring arrives overnight, like an unexpected guest. With each budding flower and unfurling petals and the chirps of birds early in the morning, you’re only reminded that things do get better. Spring’s sudden flurry signifies the coming of change in a sweet promise of healing. The barren branches of winter snow now adorn young flowers

You do nothing about your feelings for three months, allowing them to cement themselves deeply into your heart until you’re sure of how you feel. But you’re unsure if you can keep it in anymore, not when the petals of cherry blossoms float around Minho who’s walking next to you, like he always does. 

It feels different, like there has always been a premonition of love sitting on your chest until it was the right moment. Like the young flowers growing from the barren branches of the winter snow, you feel your heart adorn a feeling that is blossoming.

It’s quiet, save from your footsteps and the rustling of petals around you. His eyes glisten with a certain warmth that no one can replicate, and it’s something you’ve grown familiar with. A confession is brewing in your throat, and you try to make it look like your mind isn’t reeling. You fail to consider the way Minho knows you like the back of his hand, watching you closely as your brows furrow purposefully. 

“Something on your mind?”

The prospect of confessing to your best friend is scary, almost uncharted territory. The realization that you’ve fallen in love once again is even scarier. Your first love had left you with a kind of sadness that took some time to recover from, but being with Minho had made you believe in everything again, at a time when you thought your whole world had crashed down on you, at a time when you thought you’d never feel this way again. 

He makes you happy, so screw everything else. Screw that fear. There is nothing else to do, but—

“I think I like you. No, I think I…” You blurt out, stabbing the silence.

The word is sitting on your throat, but it’s much harder to say out loud. Minho’s eyes widen, caught off guard by your words. He feels the need to reassure you, can see the way you’re bruising yourself over being unable to say it.

“Hey, you don’t have to say it right now.” 

“But I do. And I… I need— I need to know how you feel… about me.” Your voice grows significantly quieter. You try to maintain eye contact, but it’s a little difficult when he’s looking at you like that. Doe eyes and soft lips parted. 

He meets your eyes, as if searching for something. He looks so entirely Minho that it has your heart tumbling.

“I love you.”

“I… What?” Your heart fills with hope.

“I love you.” He says so easily, as if they had been words sitting in his mouth for a very long time. You look into his eyes, searching for any sign that would indicate any teasing, but you don’t find anything. You only find a type of genuineness and softness unique to him, when he’s stripping himself vulnerable in his truth. 

“Do you really mean that?” Your breath is shallow, staring at him straight in the eye. You step closer to where he’s standing.

“I do.” Minho’s face visibly relaxes. “Ever since you visited my house for the first time and met Soonie, Doongie, and Dori.”

You remember that day as if it was yesterday. He’d been so excited to finally let you meet his cats, bag slung over his back as he tugged you towards his door. He’d stopped and stared when you crouched down to his cats’ heights, pulling out a few treats you had bought for them when Minho had told you you’d be meeting them. You thought nothing of it, nothing of the way his eyes flicker from you to his pets, lips curved into a small smile and eyes softening significantly. And then you realize that had been years ago. He had been in love with you for years.

“But that was… that was way before. That was…” You stutter over your own words, unable to believe that he had been harboring these emotions for such a long time, far longer than you could fathom.

“And I have loved you every single day after. Even when you wore those god awful bright red parts almost everyday.” He says, taking your hands in his. You snort at the memory. 

“Minho, stop joking around.” 

“Me? Joking around? I would never.” He brings your hands to his lips and presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles. “I’ve loved you, and I’ve loved past those pants, and your snot when you cry, and when you were puking over your toilet after drinking for the first time, and the crumbs you leave on my couch when you eat your chips.”

A soft laugh escapes you, and you jut your lips out in recollection of every single memory. He mirrors your laughter, eyes forming crescents. He’s been so good at hiding how you make him feel, but maybe if you looked close enough, you would’ve seen it. 

“Now you’re just embarrassing me.” 

“Hmm, but I love you.” 

You crack a smile, even though it feels like you’re about to cry from the way your heart is aching from the overwhelmingness of Minho’s softness. It doesn’t take long before the tears start to form, laughter cracking in a stubborn way when a bubble forms in your throat. 

“What are you doing? Are you crying?” He teases, letting go of your hands so he can hold your face in his hands, so he can see you better. There’s no need to answer him when it’s painfully obvious by the way he swipes at the tears on the corner of your eyes. 

“I’m not!” You sniffle, letting your hands rest atop of his that’s still cupping your face. “Stop looking at me. This is so embarrassing.” 

“Even more embarrassing than when you cried over milk when we were doing groceries?” He murmurs, thumb stroking up and down your cheeks and lips brushing over your face that it makes your heart contract.

“Okay, we don’t have to bring that back.” You pout, trying to will the tears away from your eyes. You fail, but it does make Minho laugh. “Why didn’t… If you loved me for so long, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“Because you were hurting. And I’ll always be your best friend before someone who’s been in love with you.” His words take root in your heart, injecting itself as he leans in even closer. Now you feel all soft and putty in his hands. 

“Do you really mean all this?” You’re having a hard time believing that any of this could be true. Your voice falters as you speak, staring into his eyes but all he was fixated on was your lips. 

“Mhm. I love you. Get used to it because I’m never saying this again.” His eyes light up, and it squeezes your heart. Then, his eyes flutter closed and he pulls you gently to his lips, finally closing the distance and allowing himself to fall into you freely, in the open. It’s slow and sweet, and it almost makes you tumble that you have to hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself standing.

He kisses you like he wants you to feel the love he’s kept locked up just for you, and you think you imagine the whimper that falls from his lips against yours. Minho keeps his hands on your cheeks, unable to touch you anywhere else, unable to act out on how in love he is with you. So, he keeps kissing you, and kissing you until he can cement every detail into his head. 

When you break away from the kiss, he doesn’t fight back the giddy smile on his face, he doesn’t mask the softness he’d bared himself in front of you. Minho only rests his forehead against yours, leaning down to press a few kisses to your face. 

You’ve never been this happy, never felt more love than in this moment. Second loves don’t get as much credit for the way they’re able to rebuild a heart you thought would be shattered for a long time. They don’t get enough recognition for the way they teach you that maybe your first love hadn’t been your first love after all. That maybe everything was meant to happen to lead you down a single winding path towards Minho’s heart. Maybe this has always been your predetermined destination.

In a few months, summer will come again, and you’ll be ready to move past the seasons with Minho, the way it was always meant to be. 

note. u have made it to the end !!! let me know what you think :’) i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing it 

[inferno-0]

Hello! If it's possible, could you make more scenarios about Ghidorah and Kaiju reader? Or Godzilla and Kaiju reader? (Btw I love your writing very much and keep up the good work!)

Godzilla x Kaiju!Reader /Headcanons /

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I already have such a request, but it looks like I will have to write this again?

Oh, and one more thing. Sorry for the English. (I assure you, this will become my tradition)

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* If he tries to be a little less rude with people, then with Kaiju it is quite the opposite. Through its thick skin, you can feel the desire to playfully fight with you. Yes, yes, games. Our boy is really tired of bloody fights and wants to feel loved.

* In this case, he will often bite you for any seats that are available to him. Neck, muzzle, paws, sometimes even a thigh, but this is rare, since respect for personal space is above all. Unless, of course, you want to.

* The desire to be with him? Then fall in love with the omnipresent dream. Godzilla loves to sleep and just nap for a short time. During such a period, he is really lazy and does not want to do anything. You just need to stay close to him and snuggle up to his side.

* Don't forget, he's still king.

Even if you become the beloved of this Titan, it does not give you the opportunity to seize someone's territory. No, you can move along these paths, but without unnecessary movements.

* Too restless. He does not want to lose someone else and remain alone on this earth. For this, please. Call him at any difficult moment... Especially during a fight with another Titan, as Godzilla will no longer be able to tolerate loneliness, although he is used to it.

Even if you are stronger than him, it doesn't matter. Call.

* Sometimes you like to lie on the seashore, away from people. Watching the sunset brings a kind of joy and tranquility when there is someone with whom you can do it.

* There is a moment when a roll call is created between you. Especially during your intention to come to him in the Colosseum. You growl loud and clear, showing a sign that it's close, as Godzilla responds with a rhythmic sigh.

* And it is also harmful. He did not let him into the Colosseum, filling the entire space with his body. Until the concrete nest cracked...

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I miss gifs with them so much🤜

[cherrsnut]

Hostage - Prologue

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for. 

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 1.4k

// Next

Prologue

The waves brushed the seashore, singing that beautiful melody only the sea could voice out, a blessing from mermaids, Edna always told you. To keep you safe from the sea monsters whilst you were away in the treacherous ocean. It was an old tell-tale the older folks liked to conspire, while you weren’t sure if you believed it, you weren’t totally against it either. Many accidents occurred deep in the sea, and you had seen firsthand the gravity of those injuries. From scratches to open lacerations with immediate need of stitching. But for you, the worst ones by far were the infections, which naturally happened from a bite injury from a contaminated fish, often leading to amputations, and in some instances, you had to dismember a whole limb off a fisherman.

You looked up again at the scenery before you,  the ball of flame just waking from its slumber was reflecting each ripple in the sea, echoing its color towards you. Edna often told you a mermaid’s voice was the most beautiful sound any human could come across, so much so she was convinced we weren’t prepared to listen to their songs. But at that moment, if what Edna was even half true, you were sure you���d be hypnotized to believe the sun rays had created a hallway for you to walk, to travel down that shiny path further from the horizon to the end of the world even. 

The sky’s creativity brushed their colorful clouds given by the warm colors of the sun. With the pale blue of the sky´s natural form as a canvas, the clouds had been painted into shades of oranges and pinks. A truly ethereal sight, but for you, it only took you a second to take in before your attention was back on opening up the building, already too used to the sight of the waking hours of the sky. 

As if you weren’t cold enough from the night breeze, the building welcomed you with its silent frost air inside. With the signal of the cold shudder creeping up your back. You let a sigh escape, the vapor making itself known, to test if it was simply cold or icy. The visible physical reaction was enough to answer your question, so you got ready to warm up the frozen iglu you were standing. Opening the wooden back door, you frond yourself upon wooden shelves with the same pattern and color as the rest of the store, as the same wood had been used to construct the whole building, the tree of the artist being rustic pine.

Containers upon containers of unopened herbalism knowledge, each one of them sealed and numbered by none other than yourself. Nature itself had been manifested in there, some plants had been slowly growing for you to collect their fruits and eventually put them away here, to be used shortly after.  Others had been cut and placed with a bow and tag wrapped around it. Many types of plants and flowers existed within the store, some intact within the vase, otherwise, others had been churned and sliced or made liquid for your clientele, from medicinal or aromatic to poisonous antidotes. So it was natural when the herbal shop had the attraction of those who were in need of some sort of healing, whether it be physical or spiritual, the herbal store was open for those in need.

In reality, the owner of the shop had been Edna from the beginning, all before she passed a year ago. And since it seemed you were the next person who could almost mimic Edna’s miracles, or so the city named it,  it seemed you were the best fit to further her legacy. Of course, adding the fact that you were the closest person to Edna. 

You found the dry wood, and you were pleasantly surprised to find some logs to be completely dried off, you stacked them up onto the basket. Edna was especially adamant about using pine woods because their value came from its easy way to burn right off the bat. Of course, that meant that pine wood was more prone to burn faster, and that’s when oak wood made its shining appearance. Its harsh, hard, and thick texture made them burn for longer hours without constant checking up, and while Edna often complained about their prize difference, she still seemed to have some sort of dependency on the fiery warm calmness the chimney gave. Just a nice safe haven from the cold weather outside.

You often had Edna in the back of your mind throughout each passing day, especially the constant reminder of her stubborn and disciplined nature. So much so, many things, which you’d get abused over, were as simple as things, whether be it moving a flowerpot barely an inch to the right because “it just looked wrong before” or cutting rosemary “the proper way” and to “never disrespect the ways of herbalism again”, which quite frankly exhausted you to no end, earning her the name of Old Hag, only spoken when she wasn’t present of course, because, the thought of her finding out about her secret nickname was more terrifying than straight-up kicking a peacemaker in the ass.

Firing up the hungry insides of the chimney, you left the pine inside as its first dish, a quick little snack. With that thought in mind, you couldn’t help but murmur a joke to the chimney to be patient for the main dish because “good things take time”. 

Still, with a jacket covering your frame, you leaned against the window facing the perfect view of the port just a few feet away from you. Fishermen, with their young disciples, already untying their boats to take them to a new adventure, which most times led them to Edna’s shop.

You tended to think of those memories as a pleasantry, sure it had become ordinary and almost a monotone routine that you expected to face on a daily basis. Still, as you saw their dark silhouettes, and came to face with the much smaller silhouettes, you couldn’t help but frown with the slight pitching of your heatrings painfully.

 It was hard to forget tomorrow was the Annual Reaping. Unconsciously you gritted your teeth, it was something about their loud laughs while leaving the seashore, their shouts which were provoking the sea to give them tough challenges during the day, and just how they were signing joyful tunes, ignorant of what laid the very next day made you immensely uncomfortable. You gulped down hard, and as per usual you recited a little blessing for their safe return.

You blinked away from their overly optimistic sight, something you somehow found you couldn’t handle, the taste of bitterness present all the way to your heart. It left you with bubbled thoughts that popped into your mind. Pessimism and dejection were writing desolate letters in your brain, words too melancholic you regretted you could never send to anyone.

The little cling from the bell resonated, signaling the announcement of an early client. You had no choice but to brush aside your powerless thoughts and assist the woman who had just come in. Brown short curly locks bounced until they hit her shoulders. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Ashwood! Strange for you to be an early bird!” you trailed to a very much familiar face. You forced your learned charm out on display. Mrs. Ashwood took a second to look over your features, her sad eyes roamed over your figure, to take in all your shape. You could only suspect the reason behind it being much darker, she probably wanted to take one last look at you in case they were to take you away.

She tilted her head uncertain about the upbeat mood you were in. Then it dawned on you, that the fish children were doing the very same thing as you. It wasn’t necessarily ignorance or lack of knowledge of what was going to transpire, but rather trying to grasp any sharp shard of normalcy they had left before it would be too late. Before they’d be far away from home, fending for themselves in the arena, and before their untimely and cruel fate. So before the surface of the water rises atop your head and drowns you, you’d rather play along the unawareness card for a little while more. At least just until the Reaping hour tomorrow. 

Next

Hey guys!! this is my first fic here on Tumblr. If you like just how the story goes lmk and I'll put you in the Taglist. Anyways, love you guys MUAH <3

[thelordofgifs]

a tiny little ficlet for @eilinelsghost! thank you for being such a wonderful friend <3

-

The first bright rays of Laurelin were brushing Eärwen’s cheek. She sighed, luxuriating in their gentle warmth and in the blissful silence – just a little longer, please—

There was an eager tapping at the door. “Ammë! Ammë, wake up!”

Eärwen and Finarfin had both agreed, when their son had been yet a babe-in-arms, that they would never lock their bedroom doors at night, never imply to Finrod in either word or deed that he was not first in their hearts. It was a policy that had many benefits: for who could possibly deny the tender pleasure that sparked in your heart the first time your baby stood quietly over your bed in the middle of the night and then confessed, grave and a little tearful, that he had had a nightmare, or else crawled warm and sleepy between the covers in the drowsy mornings, listening with his head on your breast to the song of the seashore outside? 

Eärwen would not forego that for anything. All the same, she thought she could possibly do without this sort of morning.

It seemed to her that Finrod was bouncing on her bed before the door had even swung fully open. “Wake up, Ammë! It’s cleaning-time!”

“Ingoldo, my elen-lingwincë,” said Eärwen. She reached out to ruffle his silky golden curls. “Yesterday we scrubbed Haru’s ballroom-floor. The day before that we spent hours cleaning sand off the paths around the rock-pools. What else could there possibly be left to clean?”

Finarfin, still mostly asleep beside her, huffed a small laugh. “Open-ended question. A beginner’s mistake.” For it was true, Eärwen saw, that Finrod’s grey eyes were bright with thought, and he was giving her question serious consideration.

“The beach,” he decided at last. “There are lots of gems on the beach, Ammë, and they’re all crusted over with sand and dirt and things! We should polish them.”

“Ingoldo, darling,” Eärwen protested. “There are hundreds and thousands of jewels on the beach.”

Finrod nodded earnestly. “And millions and billions!” he declared. Finwë his grandfather had been teaching him his numbers lately, Eärwen recalled.

“You had best make a start, then,” murmured Finarfin, the traitor.

“Perhaps Atya should help you clean today,” Eärwen suggested.

Finrod thought about this for a moment. “No, Atya needs to rest,” he said. “But you can help, Ammë! Come on!” He tugged insistently at her arm.

Eärwen stifled a sigh. It was going to be a very long day.

[melmac78]

Here’s part 6 of my USS Lexington story. I had to do some rewrites to the original because the original location didn’t work right (at least anymore: it’s based on my memory of the ship in 1994).

Pictured are areas mentioned in this chapter: chow lines (breakfast here, but they have lunch too), sick bay, medical storage area*, and engine room, and from the CIC tour, a porthole that uses the climate control to keep things cool, and model airplanes. The hallway I think is the loop around for lower decks.

(Note: this is where I’m having to start major rewrites, so… please be patient.)

Chapters: Five Four Three Two One

•••••

The rest of the day was a bit cloudy, but for everyone aboard the Lexington, there was quite a bit of fun.

Several of the groups were on the flight deck, looking at the planes and other artifacts.

A couple of the kids noticed a bit of water in one of the wheel wells and, thinking it was from rain, pretended it was the perfect dramatic landing for one of their toy planes they got from the gift shop.

A ship leader, seeing the mess they were making, ran up to them and stopped the action. They took them to a scout lead, but didn’t miss a college student also touching the water.

The scoutmaster made them put the toys in a plastic bag that he held out, scolding the boys that they needed to be cautious around the planes.

As far as the Tracy family, John took a nap and tried to eat a little bit more the others had brought down from the party in the break room.

He was able to eat a couple more of the seafood stuffed mushrooms and potato skins, washing it down with a Sprite.

Feeling a little bit better from both, he elected to again to the captains quarters and CIC tour.

If he decided to stay by a couple of the climate control ports to cool down a little bit every so often it wasn’t a big deal he decided,

Besides, there were a lot of model planes to enjoy, and it would take longer than a few minutes to see every one.

The others enjoyed other paths and then took a break to enjoy some of the other food in their quarters as a snack.

Grandma Tracy had elected to go off board for the evening and spend time with Kayo. She knew that the young woman was interested in eating at one of the restaurants on the ocean and spending the afternoon windsurfing at the National Seashore at Padre Island… if only because Sally’s bones had ached going up and down the ladders.

The cloudy evening turned into a slightly drizzly night, although for those who were still aboard for Lexington after it closed for the evening still had a lot of adventure coming.

Mess had come and gone, with the brothers eating various amounts of their meals. They spent the rest of the time of the meal visiting with campers and answering questions they had about the Thunderbirds. John was a bit quieter than normal, but would answer the few inquiries directed his way.

The cake was also well received after singing Scott the “Happy birthday song,” though Scott made sure that Virgil got all the credit for the idea.

The rest of the night’s events lead up to the big event - the scavenger hunt.

The campers, Tracy brothers and others were looking forward to this hunt as the top prize was custom-made dog tags.

Scott had a set from his days serving in the Air Force, however, these were done in the old typewriter embossed tin back in the 1940s. So, ever the history buff, he was looking forward to trying his luck.

The brothers paired off in twos, with the space brothers teamed up, then Scott and Virgil as a team.

Gordon ended up paired with a young woman who was interested in becoming a member of WASP so he didn’t mind being the odd man out.

The five teased each other trying to say who would win – though John reminded them that it could be anyone who won, including the other groups that were on the ship.

Jacob blew the start whistle, and each of the teams could go to any of the tour paths and any order they wanted to answer their questions.

Alan was so excited about trying to win this prize however, after the hangar deck questions were answered, he led John on the lower deck tour – the wrong way.

In spite of that, the two started the tour and just answered everything backward.

Made sense too as they realized the flow of the paths made this a wise choice.

Little did they know that going backward would be one of the best and worst decisions they could’ve made.

“OK, it says 'The crew’s mess hall served breakfasts X many hours per day.' Do you see the answer John?" asked Alan.

The astronaut narrowed his eyes as he looked at the display in front of him. "Yeah, it says '316'," said John, blinking his eyes. He wasn't sure if that was the right answer everything seemed a little blurry. *I should've brought my glasses,* he thought. He occasionally had trouble with his eyesight after spending a bit of time in space.

Alan however glanced over his shoulder and laughed. "Bro, that's the number of calories on the sausage," he said and, seeing the placard at the end of the line, wrote the correct answer.

John smiled weakly as he reread the number. "Yeah, you're right," he said, rubbing his neck.

The youngest brother paused seeing the older man’s gesture. He scrutinized his fellow astronaut, and his laughter faded.

“John... you sure you're alright?" asked Alan. "You've been acting odd since din - uh, mess this evening. Why don't you turn in for the night and I'll finish this up?"

The redhead shook his head. “No, I'm fine Alan. Besides, we can get back at Gordo for calling us space cadets," he said with a faint grin, looking at the display again.

The youngest Tracy laughed. "Yeah - just because he was in WASP and knows ships doesn't mean he's got this won," he said and started down the path.

John however stared at the Mess Hall display, as though a bit dazed. "Can you help me," he said to the mannequins, frowning when they didn't respond. "Hello, can you guys hear me?"

A squeaky voice broke through. "Very funny John - these don't talk like the 'captain' did in his quarters," said Alan, remembering the tour.

John shook his head, clearing it. “Right,… just making sure they’re not Autons… though they’d be better than the projected face ones,” he said.

The youngest smiled. “Yeah… ‘Doctor Who’ did animatronic plastic better,” he said, and checked his watch. “Look, we've got to hurry so we can win."

John nodded. "You're right, they just look real. Anyway, this is about a third of the way through the tour, and we've still got to go through the other routes…” he said as they headed down toward the sick bay area.

Privately though, John was worried something really was wrong. He still felt weak, even after the nap and food. John dismissed it initially, as that could be from the space sickness and not eating a lot in the mess.

Now he wasn’t as sure. His ears buzzed slightly, and while he chalked it off this time to the fluorescent lights lighting their path, he wasn’t so sure.

Then there was the fact John felt warm on the tour route, which was odd as he knew it was air conditioned.

"Then again, anything on the ship is warmer than the sleeping berth," he muttered under his breath as they stopped by the pre-op and operating rooms in sickbay to answer questions.

Alan asked him something, but it sounded slightly blurred. "Yeah Alan - it says they used ether and halothane for anesthesia," he said, looking at the machinery, "doctor" and "patient" in the surgery.

"Um... John, that's not what I asked. In fact that isn't even a question on the hunt," said the youngest, looking through the list.

Confused at the non-sequitur, Alan looked up at his older brother. Seeing John's pallor and dazed look, the teen gently, but firmly grabbed his brother by the arm. "Let's take a break - you look like you really do need one."

John nodded and leaned against the wall, running a hand over his face, wincing at the slight headache he had. "Good idea," he said tiredly. Seeing Alan's look of concern, he smiled. "I'm fine Alan..."

Alan scoffed in a way that closely sounded like Scott's. "Yeah, sure. John - you're a bit pale - well, more than normal, and your cheeks are still slightly flushed," he said, reaching out to check his brother's wrist pulse. "Plus, you're acting funny again, and I don't mean in the Gordon's failed joke way."

John shied away from the younger man's icy touch. "Funny? How?"

"Your answer listing two anesthetics to the question of 'How many towels are in the surgery'. You're never that far off on an answer, even concussed," said Alan.

The older man quirked an eyebrow at the remark. “Hey, it was interesting they had drugs that if they weren't careful could knock out more than the patient in the room," said John, shrugging.

"Maybe," muttered Alan, who was more concerned about the present day issue. "Look, I know you don't want to disappoint Scott, and want the 1940s style dog tags… even if for me… but…”

“But…?”

“But you can't keep pushing yourself too hard there."

"I'm not pushing myself too hard Alan,” sighed John, though he was doubting himself.

The youngest scoffed. "Bro, I love you but let's be real - astronaut to fellow astronaut. You haven't been at 100 percent since you came down from Five," he said bluntly. "You passed out in the living room shortly after you arrived home, then you almost missed this because you had trouble boosting up your levels….”

John reluctantly nodded. "I know - but I'm eating everything that you guys tell me to..."

"Not quite John. You only ate half your hamburger and one Oreo cookie out of six tonight - plus left the chips untouched," said Alan pointedly. "That isn't everything."

"You guys also made me eat the meal Elmo’s brought today ... about two hours before mess," retorted the older brother. “Then a few of the appetizers from Scott’s party…”

"That still isn't a whole lot John, even for you but…"

Seeing Alan pause for thought, John placed a gentle hand over Alan’s mouth.

Seeing the youngest twitch his nose in irritation, John removed it, and continued with a smile. "But this is Scott's birthday and I didn't want to disappoint him being stuck on Tracy Island,” he finished.

The youngest however was not convinced of it was worth his brother’s health.

"Yet Scott would much rather you be 'stuck on Tracy Island' than scaring him like you did yesterday," Alan said pointedly.

Seeing his brother start to speak, Alan put his hand up. "No John… you freaked him and Virgil out - not to mention Gordo and me - trying to take an unconscious header off the flight deck.”

John narrowed his eyes in challenged. "But - again - I didn't lose consciousness yesterday..."

Alan however put a hand on John's shoulder, making him look into his younger brother's blue eyes. "John… contrary to your opinion, you nearly did."

The elder Tracy paused for a moment, and then ran a hand through his bangs. "Not you too," he said, sighing in frustration. "Virgil told me his diagnosis after mess yesterday, then ordered me to lie down again for an hour before the evening programs. I still don't believe him though..."

"You need to John. When Virg said you looked worse than a zombie he meant it," said Alan, shuddering. "Bro, you really looked like the ones in my game - even I know that's too close to out cold."

The astronaut brushed it off. "But Alan, I'm feeling far, FAR better than yesterday. The rests and food have helped a lot," he said. Seeing his youngest brother give a skeptical look, he chuckled. "But, since you insist I'll snag some of Virgil's gummy bears when we get done with this part of the tour."

"Promise?" inquired Alan, quirking a skeptical eyebrow.

"Yes, I promise. I'll leave the white-eyed zombies for the video games," John crossed his heart, smiling as he glanced at his watch.

He then straightened up. "Look, we've got an hour to finish the hunt. We'd better hurry or Squid Kid could get the last laugh."

The youngest nodded reluctantly, but admitted that John's dazed look had faded. He smiled and patted hod brother on the back. "FAB John, but let me know if you need another break," he said, then snapped his fingers. “Of course, we can get a soda from the machine at the dining room area.”

The older astronaut nodded. “Sounds good,” he agreed, and they continued their scavenger hunt. They answered the questions for the Sickbay area correctly this time and continued.

After a few confusing turns in the chapel, leading them in circles and briefly going the wrong direction, the duo finally reached the hatch that lead to the engine room.

Alan frowned as he saw the notice. "Caution: Engine Room has low overhangs, narrow pathways and tight spots. Proceed with caution," he read and turned to John.

"Tight spots?" said John, wincing. He didn't want his mild phobia to set in.

Seeing his brother pale a bit however, Alan started putting together a possible issue and placed a hand on his shoulder. "John - if you can't handle small spaces with opaque walls, I can do this one on my own," he said.

Seeing John's surprised look, the younger man shrugged. "Going to bed or waking up in the morning not being able to see sky or stars can make anyone mildly claustrophobic," Alan admitted. "I've had some issues with it on this trip."

"Huh - you sawed logs all night. How did you get over it?" said John, amused.

"Slept on my stomach - the top bunk for some reason feels a lot like the rug on my bedroom floor that way," Alan said, chuckling. Seeing John was still indecisive, he gave a kind smile and gestured to the stairs. "But your call here bro - wait or go?"

The red-head shook his head. "No, I'll go. You might be 20 but that's ONE place we need the buddy system," he said. "Don't want you falling over the side into the engines - again."

Alan rolled his eyes as he started his descent. "Seriously, tripping over sofa cushions onto MAX does NOT count as falling into any engines," he said sourly, but seeing John crack a smile, joined in on the humor.

Once John reached the deck the two started on their scavenger hunt. As they walked through the path, John started to feel warm again - but this time it was different.

The path seemed to be a bit more uneven, and John had to steady himself several times. John dismissed it as minor buckles and floor imperfections caused by 118 years of tourists and sailors walking the paths.

Alan however was so interested in the large machinery and dials that he too didn't notice John's growing unsteadiness.

They reached a wall with wheels, valves, dials and other machinery. "EOS looks good," said John seriously. He was starting to feel even warmer and was confused as to what his favorite AI was doing on the Lexington. He half expected to start being pelted with bagels and have the gravity ring turned off.

Alan however hadn't heard the EOS part and chuckled as he touched the surface of one of the valve wheels. "Yeah, she does look good for 118 years old. Still - there's enough panels on this wall that they probably would've wanted something like EOS to control them," he said as he answered another question at that location marker.

John however was fascinated with the dials, touching a few to see how they felt. In his mind he thought he was really on Five, and wondering why EOS used holograms to look like a 1940s ship. The images kept switching from both themes, confusing him to the point he paused.

When John didn't move, Alan pulled his shirt sleeve. "Come bro, we're almost done, then we'll take another break before finishing up," he said.

The older Tracy snapped out of his hallucination and realized he was on the Lexington. He heard Alan's comments, slightly distorted. "Good, glad to hear," said John, nodding and they continued walking down a longer hallway that lead them on a catwalk over several larger engines.

Shortly after a jump… at least to John it felt there was one, they were in a hallway again, heading to the main crew dining area.

This was where there was a soda machine with refreshments he needed… he remembered, looking forward to another Sprite.

But… as they were heading through more of the medical area, John started noticing some was definitely wrong.

He paused when he realized Alan's voice sounded more like a literal chipmunk's chatter than his still slightly squeaky voice.

“That's odd," he mused and started assessing how he felt again - really felt.

John noticed he was even more tired than he had a few hundred yards earlier, even compared to the engine room, and on a normal, even path.

Looking down, he saw his hands were shaking slightly.

"Alan's right... I have low blood sugar again and need that Sprite," he thought at first, but then came a heatwave - and the trembling got worse.

The combination of the two then alerted him to a more troubling issue. "That's not right - I usually end up chilled," he thought as he looked at the hallway with a medical storage hatch not too far to his right.

It was still in front of him, but the now only sharp thing in the room in his vision.

The rest of the started to blur into a tunnel, growing darker...

It was then John had a moment of clarity. He knew those signs, having fallen victim to them a few times.

He wasn't hypoglycemic he vaguely realized - he'd eaten enough foods to stop that issue.

This was worse - and this time he wasn't going to escape its clutches.

"Alan... I-I n-need...rab-bits," he tried saying as loudly as he could, but it came out as soft as a whisper.

Feeling his muscles quiver, trying to keep himself standing on the narrow hallway, John realized then his estimation was drastically wrong and tried to prepare himself...

Alan however was looking at an answer, not sure if was correct. "Hey John, I think this is wrong. Do you think the X-Ray room…” he said, and paused hearing his brother murmur something wildly offbase.

"Rabbits? Bro, what? -" Confused, the younger Tracy heard a stumble near the hatch he passed.

He turned just in time to see John's eyes roll back as he passed out.

John had been trying to get to the wall to sit down when he collapsed, but fell backward and toward the right, landing in the netting.

While it kept him from hitting his head, when he kept sagging, most of John's weight fell into the net.

To Alan's horror however, the nets there to protect guests - several decades old, then started to tear under John's 180 pounds.

John landed on the plexiglass, which at its age started to crack under him.

"John!" shouted Alan, as the cracks got louder. Diving, he barely caught his brother around the legs and knees as the net tore fully.

Alan succeeded, if barely, keeping his older brother from going completely over to the floor 30 feet below them.

The youngest did shift slightly as gravity pulled John down until his knees were over the thin lip of the hatch.

Fortunately for John, there was enough clearance under the hatch to avoid smacking his head on any item underneathwhen he stopped being a human pendulum.

Unfortunately for John, Alan's position in saving the older astronaut made the younger essentially a human brake, unable to do anything except keep the duo from falling.

"John! Can you hear me?" Alan persisted, only to frown when his brother didn't respond.

Alan carefully worked himself into a position to try and help pull John back over onto the walkway, but quickly stopped when he felt John start to slip further over the edge.

Feeling his own feet slip on the flooring when he slide some, Alan turned his head to find a secure leg hold. The teen saw what was left of the guard supporting the net. It was not floor to ceiling, but any little bit until aid came had to be enough.

He then put his other leg around his ankle, putting himself in a variation of a figure four leg lock. He was able to reach the other side and hold on to it, creating a more secure human brake. The younger Tracy then readjusted his grip around John's legs.

Alan let out a slight sigh of relief as he kept hold of his senseless brother, but knew he couldn't do it indefinitely.

"OK, plan B," said Alan, who used a special whistle code he had Brains program into his watch to turn the communicator feature on. "Alan to Scott, Virgil - anyone," he said in his rescue voice.

Virgil's bass timber spoke up, chucking. "I read you Alan, did you get -"

The youngest just interrupted. "John's collapsed!"

The medic's tone abruptly changed. Alan never joked when it came to John's health. "Where are you?"

"Lower decks - sickbay - medical supply hatch - I'm hanging on to him," said Alan, grunting slightly when he felt John's body shift slightly.

"Hanging on? What..." said Virgil, growing even more worried.

"He's fallen halfway into the hatch. I have him, but can't move without risking him - and me - going completely over."

Scott, who was at the machinery fabrication portion of the route, started running through the lower deck tour. "FAB Alan - just hold on to him. I'm on my way," he said, into his watch. "Gordon, go find Jacob and tell him we have a man down in the lower deck tour."

"FAB Scott," said the aquanaut, who had been studying the "Pearl Harbor" movie display in the Foc'sle. He fortunately was near the end of that tour so he wouldn't have too far to run for supplies and help.

The medic, quickly followed his eldest brother. "Alan - I'm right behind Scott. How is John now?" said Virgil, who then heard some minor shuffling and Alan's voice.

Hearing no further response, he grew even more concerned that he might be treating two patients. "Alan do you copy? Is John awake?"

"FAB, I copy," said Alan, to his older brother's relief. "But John's still out like a light."

Virgil frowned. "You sure? You can’t see ..."

"FAB… I bit him to be sure."

The medic did a double take. "You *bit* him?" said Virgil, not sure if he heard right.

"Well, I've kinda got my hands full - how else am I going to check?" snapped Alan.

Virgil started to argue, then shook his head. Given Alan was holding onto John for dear life, he admitted it probably was the only thing Alan could do besides yell to test his brother's awareness level.

The medic continued. "Understood Alan, but don't bite him again," said the medic as the two continued running down the hallway. "When John starts coming to, keep him calm so he doesn't cause you both to fall."

Alan started to say something when he felt John again try to slip through his grasp. "Hurry Virg! I don't know how long I can hold on," he grunted, holding on tighter and praying his brothers got there in time.

8888888888888888888

Three minutes later, Scott and Virgil quickly approached the area. “Alan, give us an update on John," said Scott as he passed by the Missing Man table.

"He's moaned softly a couple of times, but that's it," groaned the youngest, pained. The discomfort in his shoulders and legs securing his brother was agonizing, but he vowed to let his joints dislocate first before risking John's safety.

The two older brothers frowned as they continued down the hallway. "He should've come to by now," said Virgil.

"Why hasn’t he?" asked Scott, thinking space sickness and the long night before took its toll.

"Not sure," said Virgil, having thought of at least 10 more serious reasons at the moment. "Of course Alan can't really tell if John's woken up though…”

The pilot nodded grimly, understanding. "Let’s get them safe first..." said Scott as they arrived. They froze in their tracks briefly, assessing the scene.

Alan was on the floor and using his weight and grip on thin - but bolted down, pieces of metal to secure John's legs, doing what he could to keep his brother from becoming a pancake.

John's legs from the knees down were the only part visible on the high walkway. Leaning over the hatch, they saw John was upside down facing the an empty, but no less deadly, 30 feet or so header to the floor. Between his lax face and limp body language, John could almost be mistaken for a washcloth hanging from a laundry line to dry.

Scott and Virgil were thankful Alan was there to catch his brother, but worried as it had been several minutes since John's collapse with no known signs of awareness.

The oldest Tracy shook his head and quickly walked forward. "Alan, we're here," he said as he reached for John's legs, hoping to lighten some of the strain on Alan. "Did he hit anything going over?"

Alan by then could only whimper slightly in pain from his locked muscles. Scott pulled a MiniMAX from his pocket he had used to take aerials of the ship, and launched him to assess the situation below them.

Virgil however carefully stepped around his youngest brother and got on John's other side. He knelt over and unabashedly grabbed the waistband of John's Bermuda shorts and what fistful of shirt he could grab safely.

The man paused in the action - he had to be sure before risking further injury to John. "Scott, what did MiniMAX find" he said.

"The area under the hatch is clear. John couldn’t hit anything. Still unresponsive," said Scott.

"OK Scott. Now, this isn't the way I'd like to move him but we have little choice," the medic said. "On the count of three, you and I will pull John up and adjust positions until I can get him around the ribs to turn him onto the hallway."

"What-about-me," said Alan, who finally caught his breath as Virgil lessened John's weight.

"Keep a hold of his legs and pull as we lift," said the medic gently.

Scott nodded as he knelt down to assist. "FAB Virg," said the pilot and on three, they carefully pulled up their brother. Virgil would grab as much of new shirt as their brother's position changed.

Once John was high enough, Virgil had Alan move out of the way so the two older brothers could carefully remove their ill brother.

Getting a firm grip, Virgil was then able to reach around John's shoulders and head safely. The duo then gently turning a further 45 degrees, gently laying John on the hallway floor.

After dragging him a few feet back to not risk anyone else falling through the hatch, the medic then checked John's vitals.

“His pulse is fast and his skin is hot," said Virgil as Scott lowered the storage hatch. "He might have heat exhaustion."

Scott nodded. "We need to move him to a cooler location," he said, lifting his watch. "Gordon, meet us at the medical storage hatch near sickbay. If Jacob is there, ask he get…”

"FAB - Jacob is getting the trauma kit. I’m on my way with a stokes if needed and a first aid kit,” said the aquanaut as if reading Scott’s mind.

Scott looked at Alan, who was sitting behind Virgil, and rubbing his shoulder and knee. "Alan, can you help us carry him?" said Scott. "Three people would be a more secure way to get him to safety."

Alan nodded weakly. "Yes, but I'd suggest I just help with his legs," he said. "I think I've hurt myself stopping him."

The eldest frowned. "Any other injuries - you or John?" asked Scott again.

The youngest shook his head in negation. “He just hit the net. Kept him from hitting his head… just not landing on the plexiglass,” Alan said.

Virgil nodded. "I'll check it and your shoulder too after we get John sorted out," he said.

Alan nodded as the two older Tracys got on either side of their unconscious brother. Virgil put his arms under John's armpits, protecting his head. Scott put his arms underneath John's lower back and knees while Alan secured their brother at his ankles.

On the count of three, they lifted their brother, who gave a mild groan but didn't do much else. "Easy bro, you're safe," reassured Virgil, though he had a feeling John couldn't quite hear them yet. If the man did though, Virgil didn't want him to panic being carried.

They carefully moved John the rest of the walkway to an open area and placed him on the ground, trying to make him more comfortable.

Then they saw Gordon coming down the hallway. “Jacob’s ETA is about 4 minutes.”

"Understood Gordon," said Scott as he used what was in his water bottle to cool his younger brother.

Gordon kneeled next to the group as Virgil reassessed John's condition. "How's John?"

Virgil frowned as he finished checking John's pulse and eye response. "He's a bit too warm, possible heat exhaustion," he said, concerned as he and Scott then moved their brother onto the metal stretcher. "We've got to lower his temperature down."

Gordon nodded, pulling out a small cooling pack from the first aid kit as they heard running footsteps. Turning, he noticed Jacob run to their location with the larger kit, which would contain more, and larger, instant ice packs.

He then knelt next to the group. "I've closed this path to the other groups so they don't interfere," Jacob said.

"Thanks," Virgil nodded and opened up the rescue box, pulling out a cooling packs to place on John’s pulse points.

Jacob then gently grabbed John's wrist and checked his pulse. He was a certified EMT just in case there was an accident on the ship. "Gordon said you had a man down, but what exactly happened?"

Alan took a breath and explained as he helped Scott place cooling pack behind his insensible brother’s neck. "John and me were in the sickbay hallway doing the scavenger hunt… when he all of the sudden he passed out," he said. "I had to keep him from falling to the bottom of the medical storage hatch..."

Seeing Alan’s shudder, Jacob decided to distract the younger man. "Any other injuries - particularly you?" asked the ship leader gently.

The youngest brother shook his head uncertainly. "May have strained my shoulder and something in my knee… but Virg's going to check it out," he said.

"I can help - I'm an EMT," said Jacob, who gestured for the youngest to come over. He gently checked the injury as he continued. "Was there anyone or anything else affected?"

"A set of security nets tore under his weight when he fell. The plexiglas also broke, so you’ll need to replace them and check the others for age before reopening that display," said Alan, hissing slightly at the elder's ministration.

Jacob nodded. "Right now, I'm thankful they worked long enough for you to keep him from falling in," he said.

Privately, the “hangman’s humor” of his EMT side stayed mute.

Jacob had fun with people talking about the ghost in the engine room during the ghost story part of the event.

He didn't want that to actually become fact…. Even if the incident was higher up.

Feeling Alan shiver in memory, the ship leader cleared his head of the darker humor, then gently put a hand on his shoulder. "Looks like nothing's seriously hurt,” said Jacob. “I'd say use an ice pack on it and take some aspirin tonight."

Alan nodded while Virgil again took his John's vitals and checked his temperature.

He smiled softly. "The cooling packs are working some," said the medic.

As if in reply, John groaned and stirred some, partially opening his eyes.

Scott leaned over and smiled. "Hey John, how do you feel" he said simply, wanting to check John's reaction.

The astronaut winced at the metal under his back and sighed. "Fizzy," he said almost deliriously. “Am I in sick bay?”

Virgil shook his head. "Not exactly. Do you know what happened?" he said.

John tried concentrating, but it was too hard for him. He understood enough between that and the “fizzy,” feeling what that usually meant.

"I fainted… pretty certain... in the near a hatch heading from sickbay… I think?" he said, more as a question than statement.

"Yes, you did," said Virgil. "Alan called for help and we got you to safety."

The astronaut however didn't understand and winced. "Still so tired though..." he said, closing his eyes to rest.

"You're going to be - you know what fainting spells do to you," said Virgil gently, much to Jacob's confusion. "John has had issues in the past with low blood sugar."

Jacob furrowed his brow. "Does he need a glucose pack?" he asked, looking through the IR medical box.

The medic shook his head. "I don't think his collapse was from that, not with the past two days being as rough as they’ve been for him," said Virgil.

“Heat exhaustion?”

“Possibly. I think it's space sickness combined with the heat," said Virgil, putting a hand on his brother's cheek to check his temperature. "Look we need to move him back to the berth to cool him down more in private. Is there a way we can get him there with the stokes?"

John cringed… “Don’t wanna stokes,” he muttered.

His plants went unanswered as his brothers continued.

"Or having the Scouts save Sam freak out seeing him," said Gordon. Seeing Virgil's look of disapproval, he shrugged. "What? - It's true."

The ship leader however merely nodded. "Sure, there's an old sailor path through this part that leads to the berths. That's how they'd get to their stations during the service," said Jacob. "You gather up your supplies and I'll lead you through them. Most of them are air conditioned as well so they'll help cool your brother off."

The medic nodded. “Thanks," he said as he and Gordon adjusted the cooling packs on their brother. "OK John, you get to go for a little ride now,” he said, as Virgil and Scott moved him to the stokes.

John looked at his brother blearily. "Great - I hate being carried almost as much as EOS with bagels…” he said groggily.

He however then sighed as the packs cooled him further, appreciating the cool temperature against his warm skin. "Though it's worth it if she has the same coolness in the gravity ring..."

Jacob quirked an eyebrow. "You *sure* you don't want me to take him to the hospital?" he said.

Virgil also shook his head. "I don't think it's necessary. He's just more susceptible to exhaustion than the rest of us because he works in space so much.”

“But EOS…?”

“A private joke between us regarding TB5,” said Virgil. They didn’t want the AI’s existence to be known. “I think he needs just rest and fluids.”

Scott nodded. "I trust Virgil's assessment - he wasn't out long. We should be able to treat it here," he said.

The ship leader nodded. “Aye-aye - just keep me in the loop in case you need me to assist further,” he said. “My radio is on all night.”

The four conscious Tracy brothers finished gathering their items and tucked the kit onto the stokes at John's feet. On the count of three, they gently lifted the stokes, hearing their brother mumble some in protest, but didn’t try to get out.

They followed Jacob through a series of halls that lead them to the women's head and doorway to the berth, not noticing someone else was in those halls.

After gently maneuvering the basket through the doorways and down the stairs, they entered the sleeping quarters.

John still rested quietly, if a little bit annoyed as Virgil and Scott helped transfer John to his bunk.

Virgil sat on the floor next to John, who had dozed off again, and checked his vitals. "His temperature's down another couple of degrees. We can reduce the packs some so he doesn't get too chilled," he said, starting to remove them. "We'll have extras on just in case they are needed again."

Alan nodded and bundled the packs in an unused bunk to be ready for reuse while Gordon gave Virgil a light blanket to swap it out.

Scott took a close look at Virgil's reactions when he gently lifted an eyelid to check John's awareness level. "He is asleep right?" he said quietly.

Virgil nodded. "Yes, but it's a little restless physically - probably because his body is in shock from the heat and tumble," he said, adjusting the blanket over his brother.

"Could it have been exacerbated because John's pushed himself too far to come here?" asked the eldest. He felt guilty not telling John to wait a day and move TB5 to lower an elevator there instead.

"Maybe, but Scott… it isn’t your fault you know. Between yesterday and the late night and weather today…” said Virgil, but then shook his head, choosing to not continue. “Too many factors.”

He pulled out a gel pack for John's forehead and placed it on his head to gently cool it down. "As long as he stays cooling down, we’ll stay the night.”

Virgil then yawned and looked at the time. It was Tattoo, nearing the time they'd have to go to bed anyway. "Guys, we may as well turn in ourselves. I'll stay watch for the first few hours and we can swap out just in case John wakes up in a panic," said the medic.

The others nodded. "FAB Virgil. If you need us anytime, holler," said Scott.

The four uninjured Tracys, along with the Boy Scouts, college students got ready for bed and laid down in their berths. Within a half an hour they were fast asleep.

Little did they know in the next few hours, their trip through history was going to make some more history...

*A note - very minor liberties were made to the hatch: I don’t remember if there was a ladder in it or not, so I went headcanon 2060s there’s not. This is however reversed tour.

[bagoastheeunuch]

Date

HQ 3k artwork + steps process

I started this artwork so long ago, back in the summer of 2017, that I don’t even remember what the idea was. My story with original characters seems to me like a vague and unclear dream, shrouded in the fog of the past. After rereading the notes and unfinished story, I remembered that the idea was a date between two characters who loved each other, but never reconciled, separated by the morals and norms of the era in which they lived. Byzantium with its Orthodox morality considered same-sex relationships sinful, and although in real life few followed this (hiding), there were those who, out of fear of public censure, rejected their nature, to the detriment of themselves and those who had the misfortune of loving them. This is what happened to these two people. A young man named Heraclius (he is very religious, trying to be right in everything) was in love with Eleutherius, a eunuch of extraordinary and rare beauty, who served the senator Eubulus, for whom Heraclius also worked as a bodyguard. And since Heraclius was heterosexual, he was enchanted by the eunuch's feminine beauty, but he was upset, knowing that Eleutherius was actually a young man. And a eunuch at that. He had been brought up in an environment that disdained eunuchs as unworthy and deformed creatures, unmanly, and having all the shortcomings attributed to female in ancient and then Christian society. Only the imperial power valued eunuchs and placed them on an honorable level, while the common people and the army despised and hated them. It was very difficult for me to describe these moments. The story pays much attention to the social problem, which, in fact, has not changed since then, in relation to eunuchs, intersex people and people of the third gender. Heraclius could not come to terms with his feelings. Love becomes stronger every day, but the dark ghost of the past does not give him peace. He remembers how in childhood he saw the death of his classmate Alexius; the body of the dead eunuch, who threw himself off a cliff and crashed on the sharp rocks on the seashore. What was sad was that he saw how people around him mocked Alexius and did nothing. He did not understand why people and other children treated the poor boy so badly, but he could not prevent it. A series of traumatic events led to tragedy. Alexius died. And Heraclius felt guilty for not doing anything to prevent this from happening. This tragic event was so deeply etched in Heraclius' mind that as an adult he continued to have nightmares about Alexius and felt a certain fear of everything connected with it.

The beautiful Eleftherios reminded him of Alexius, and this aggravated his painful feeling.

Heraclius was a married man, but his marriage did not bring him happiness. It was not that he did not love his wife Agatha, on the contrary, he tried for the family and did the best.

He thought that even if Eleutherius were a woman, he would not be able to be with them as a family man. Alas, he did not know that his wife was unfaithful to him and cheated on him with his best friend, a homophobic and the two-faced man Constantine.

Eleutherius had the gift of clairvoyance, he saw the past and the future, and working as a bodyguard for Senator Eubulus, he prevented several assassination attempts. He also perfectly saw Heraclius' past, as well as the essence of other people, which caused him strong mental pressure. The weight of negative, sad, and even terrible thoughts, emotions, and actions of other people made Eleftherios a misanthrope, not believing in the possibility of redemption of human vices, not believing in love and the good nature of human. Deeply disappointed with humanity, he had every reason to become a villain, but nevertheless, he himself followed the path of goodness and forgiveness.

So, gradually, Heraclius' love for Eleutherius acquires a spiritual meaning, but it was impossible for him to get rid of his vices and mistakes, and Eleftherios, finally disappointed in people and Heraclius, he left worldly life and went to the monks, becoming a recluse in the mountain monastery.

But even then, the world did not abandon Eleutherius - he became known as a saint, and the gift of a clairvoyant attracted even more crowds of sufferers to the monastery. Out of mercy, Eleutherius spoke to people through a window behind a screen, and one day, Heraclius was among the visitors. Broken, sad, sickly. His world collapsed when he learned the truth. His wife had cheated on him with his friend Constantine, and had become pregnant from the affair. She had confessed this to him herself, on her deathbed, in agony, as she gave birth to a child. And Constantine had been imprisoned for organizing criminal activity and sentenced to death. Thus, Heraclius's eyes were opened to the truth. Eleutherius sympathized and said that there was always hope if you chose the path of goodness, not vice. He remained true to his vow, and Heraclius, thoughtful, went home, with a child in his arms, which is not even his, but born by his wife from his traitorous friend, the fruit of sin and vices of others and himself. But Eleutherius said, there is always hope if you chose the path of goodness.

To be honest, I gradually began to hate this story, it dragged on for a long time, darkly, building up hopelessness and depression. Initially, I was inspired by history, and some of the historical novels, the plot is completely fictional, and the characters are my original. To write this, I had to study a lot of material, and the genre itself was not entertaining and fun. In general, I never finished this story, and my detailed text ends at the first meeting of Heraclius with Eleutherius. I returned to this artwork from time to time, in the end, I drew it for 8 years.

[who-canceled-roger-rabbit]

Two lovers, forbidden from one another

Will's trapped aboard the Dutchman

So the ocean divides them apart

Built a path to be together

Yeah, and I forget the next couple of lines, but then it goes:

BUCKET TUNNEL!

ACROSS THE SEASHORE!

TO A BATHTUB!

BUCKET BUCKET BUCKET BUCKET TUNNEL!

[linipik]

FAR OUT AT SEA

"Shiro is determined to know if the new human research base is a risk for his fellow merfolk with the help of a marine biologist and research intern Adam."

rating: T

pairing: Adam/Shiro

tags: Adam (Voltron) Shiro (Voltron), Keith for half a line but he is there, Merman Shiro, Everyone lives, First Meetings, plot-driven action, Alternate Universe Merpeople, Canon-Typical Violence

This fic is part of the Once Upon the Seashore PDF (get it for free on my Ko-fi)

Chapter 1 of 4

Shiro made it his mission in life to see it all. He swam beyond the limits of his people's realm, he defied the currents that made all other merfolk hold onto coral reefs and quiver. He rose to the surface many times and walked the earth, mingling with humans as he pleased and going back to his home unharmed. Afraid of nothing, he ventured everywhere under and above the sea, infinitely curious and confident.

He was so used to going out looking danger in the eye that he never expected it to bite him back.

This time, the UUV (Unmanned underwater vehicles) that suddenly appeared deep in the open sea was not the first Shiro had seen, but it was definitely the most advanced. Its engines were so quiet that he didn’t notice the noise until the artifact was dangerously close. What was that thing doing, roaming merfolk territory? For the safety of his people, Shiro had to find out. He was also intrigued by such a sophisticated trinket that was able to go great depths, yes, but that was secondary.

Concealing himself in the dark waters, Shiro followed the underwater drone around. It took samples of algae, plankton, and whatever else crossed its path, it took photographs and emitted low noises, maybe mapping the topography of the area. After a while, it backtracked and led Shiro to a big building constructed in the middle of the ocean, much like the offshore oil rigs but this one was different, it was a newly and highly militarized scientific base. Shiro's suspicion grew stronger. He had to know what exactly was going on there and determine whether it was dangerous. 

It wasn’t his first time on a recon mission, with one stolen uniform and one forged pass later, he infiltrated the base posing as yet another young recently scouted intern and began his investigation. He found all kinds of fish living in tanks of different sizes, many measuring instruments he had never seen before, and endless fridges stuffed with samples of everything under the sun, but fortunately, nothing that belonged to merfolk. It all seemed harmless so far, but still, a little more time could uncover any real danger like military bases always provided to anything underwater, so Shiro decided to stay a bit longer.

If he was going to infiltrate for a little more time, Shiro thought it convenient to have an unsuspecting human to ask about the details of the operations there. And was like this, that during a boring afternoon of classifying old files, he found an actual intern, a young man called Adam, who offered him a smile when Shiro presented himself as Takashi.

 While Shiro found most people on the base dull at best, Adam quickly grew on him. He was clever, genuinely passionate about marine life, and didn't pretend that being what amounted to an errand boy was any kind of honor or enjoyable activity, something that Shiro could appreciate.

— o –

Speaking with Adam, Shiro confirmed some of his suspicions and learned new information. The base was a military facility dedicated to research, currently focused on finding new materials on the oceanic soil. Most specialists were engineers and geologists; as far as Adam knew, They were one of only five biologists in the whole place. He was deeply unhappy about the official's lack of interest in marine biology, given that they had collected a huge amount of specimens anyway. It was endearing hearing Adam theorize about the next sea sponge they could discover with that kind of equipment. Shiro wouldn’t worry if most humans were like him, if Adam would believe him if he told him his real motives in the base, or if Adam would mind what he actually is…

“You see Takashi? They only care about their little power struggles and their weapons,” Adam lamented one day during their lunch break, “such a waste! Honestly, if this experience wasn't key for the kind of scholarship at the marine institute I want to go to, I'd have packed my bags months ago.”

“There's nothing else here besides that scholarship, then?” Shiro asked while playing with his food, “You didn’t find anything you like here at all?”

Adam eyed Shiro, apparently pondering something. Shiro held his gaze with amusement, which ended up making Adam smile.

“I admit I enjoy some company, yeah,” he finally confessed and looked elsewhere before clearing his throat, “I mean…”

It was so obvious Shiro had to laugh. He was very clear in his in-and-out mission to uncover the secrets of this specific research facility and then return to the open sea with the necessary information to protect his people, but spending one or two weeks more in the base just so he could have these lunch dates with Adam was not too bad. Not at all.

----

Far Out at Sea is complete on PDF >> GET IT HERE <<

[cybsoo2]

temptation

00. teaser

╰┈➤ synopsis — After a shipwreck that left you stranded, you now find yourself stuck on a remote island. Distracted by the beauty, freedom, and five boys that inhabit the land, you fall further into the arms of temptation. That is, until strange events make you question what secrets lay buried beneath the sand.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!faerie!txt x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 1.8k

╰┈➤ content warning — nothing!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ; chapter 1 to this series will be posted on august 30th, at 4:00pm PDT. if you want to be added to the taglist send an ask, message, or comment :)

The salty sea is unfamiliar to your tongue. The waves that wash over you kiss your lips with every swell. The ocean breathes in shallow breaths that turn the tide. You’re swallowed under a sudden wave when you finally decide to open your eyes. 

Your cheek is pressed up against a cool surface. You reach out to run your fingers through the soft sand; digging your hand in deeper to ground yourself. Dehydration has left you dizzy. You lick your lips to get rid of dryness; spitting out the bits of sand that stick to your tongue.

You turn on your back to gauge your surroundings. A bright light blinds you and you bring up your hand to shield your eyes. The warm rays slip past your fingertips. You drop your arm back down once your eyes begin to settle in the sunlight. The void is filled with a bright blue. Millions of miles of nothing but the sapphire shade. The sea and sky battle against each other, two shades morphing into one. No ships sailing, no birds fluttering, you’re entirely alone in this vast expanse of nothingness.

You turn to the side, pieces of your past shipwreck are spread out across the shore. You reach out to touch the destruction. Discarded and decaying, all symbols of safety are ruined. Your breath begins to grow heavy. This realization rests like a 20 pound weight on your chest. You sit up slightly, leaning back on your elbows. Whipping your head around you, you can see that the beach goes on for miles. It stretches out across the horizon and wraps around the curves of the island. Sand, trees, and wreckage are all that you can see. 

You stand up fast, fighting off the feeling of lightheadedness. You swallow down the sandpaper sensation in your throat. 

“Hello!” Your voice tears into your throat. “Is anyone there?! Hello!” Your brittle voice breaks down against its misuse, but you continue screaming into the silence. While you shout at the seashore, you begin to search the beach for any stragglers from the wreck. Desperate eyes scour the empty shore as your cries are carried out to sea. 

You continue to search for what feels like hours until hope holds out its hand and shows you what seems to be… footprints? 

Small markings are dug into the sand and you sprint ahead to take a look. The tracks start in the sand and stretch out into the treeline. You walk alongside them, matching each step with your own. The footprints draw you further into the unknown forest. The woods welcome you. Shifting and reshaping its terrain to form a faint path. It pulls you in before you can think twice. 

Too naive to understand and too distraught to care, you turn a blind eye to your surroundings. Unbeknownst to you, magic flows through the forest. Running like roots through the entire island. It’s intertwined with the trees, dispersed in the air, and familiar to any lifeform that calls this island home. 

While you may not understand what is still unknown, you can feel a power that pulses in the air. An aura that you can’t quite put a name to, but can recognize its strength and ecstasy. It makes a faint humming noise that rings in your ears and hovers with every step you take. It’s not a nuisance like one would assume, rather a relaxant that washes away your worries. 

This feeling feels familiar, as is everything else that meets your eye. Nothing has any resemblance to reality. Everything is warped into a perfect, pink, picture. In your hazy recollection, it reminds you of a drifting dream. The place where sorrow and anger are absent. It’s a child’s paradise filled with fairies, mermaids, monsters, and all things interesting. A sacred sanctuary reserved for the fallen youth. Yet, it’s a wonder how you wound up here. An island lost at sea, never mapped and only known to those who spend their lives searching for it. Perhaps, the devil needed a shiny new thing to toy with. And who is he to resist a sweet thing so pure. 

You’ve followed your fantasies to temptation. Lured out by someone else’s lucky streak. The gates left unguarded to a new and interesting enigma. But when what you believe to be a dream starts morphing into a realm of reality, why would you want to leave? Even when you realize that the roots run red with dark desires and a sinful touch, would you even be able to escape?

A rustling in the bushes causes you to look up from your feet. You gain a feeling of unease and stop to hold your breath. The trees seem to taunt you, dropping leaves on your head that make you jump out of your skin. The bushes shake with laughter and the birds twitter teasing remarks. 

You can feel yourself growing closer. A certain presence plays hide-and-seek in the shadows. A storm swims in your stomach, the tides turning and making you feel almost powerless; like prey being toyed with before the predator pounces. The sinking sensation drags you down, your feet feeling like lead and knees threatening to give in. But you push through the fear, determined to find a solution to this mess.

You follow the footsteps further into the forest. Twisting and turning leaving you dizzy with dread. The tracks even appear to do laps and loops around you. Have you gotten lost already? You stop to settle your doubt for only a second before continuing on the crooked path. You remain running, just trying to hold on to your sanity while the sun begins to set. Darkness is falling fast and you'd like to find some sort of shelter before the sky submits to the black abyss.

As the minutes morph into miles, the footprints seem to appear fainter. Almost as if the culprit is floating with softer steps. The footprints then stop completely in the middle of nowhere. Two prints pressed into the dirt drop off into thin air. Nobody stands before you, no noises are heard, you’re surrounded by nothing at all. You lean down to give the prints a closer look and-

“BOO!” A sudden shout sends you to the ground. A shocked scream leaves your lips as you turn around in terror. You look up from your spot, sprawled out on the forest floor to see what seems to be… a boy? His silhouette blocks the sun, hiding his face under a dark overcast. He peers down into your eyes. You’re only able to make out the smug smile that settles itself in the shadows. He gives a soft laugh before asking, “I scared you didn’t I?” There’s a playful tone to his words and while he stares down at you with a smile on his lips and a shine in his eyes, you sit in shock. All coherent words have run away from your mind, leaving you stranded in silence with a stranger.

The boy kneels down in front of you, holding himself up with his hands. Curiosity catches his heart and he moves to poke and prod at the pretty little thing that has fallen at his feet. He brings one hand up to start teasing at your hair. He toys with the loose locks and tugs at it when you attempt to back away. 

“Who are you?” You ask with hesitancy. The boy only continues to pull at your hair, ignoring your question. “You weren’t from the shipwreck were you? I would’ve remembered you.” The boy's attention seems to have been captured by your question.

“You would’ve remembered me? Do you really think I’m that handsome?” He says with a smirk. His hand has stopped still in your hair, now fully focused on observing your reaction.

“No, I just would’ve remembered someone annoying like you.” Although his attractiveness does grab your attention, your sudden irritation at his behavior is much more prominent. Smacking his hand away from your hair, you stand up from your spot on the ground and he’s quick to follow. A faint frown falls on his face. “Are you from here then? Do you know how to help me?” He seems to stare right through your questions, amused by your actions instead of concerned. “Do you know how I can get off the island?”

“Why would you want to leave? Have you looked around you?” He asks in confusion and stares at you like you're stupid.

You tilt your head from staring at him to look at the trees tinted pink. Blushing blossoms sprout from each branch while butterflies flutter around you. The sliver of sunshine that snakes through the treetops shines down on the forest floor. The light reflects off every shiny surface, producing glitter in the air. 

The boy drags you out of your heavenly haze once he takes two steps closer. He leans forward the slightest bit to be on eye level. 

“I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.” His question comes off more demanding than you expected, leaving no room for disagreement. You nod your head to agree and he begins his interrogation. “You said you were in a shipwreck, what exactly do you mean?”

You spill your secrets into the silence. “I’d been traveling by ship for about a week before a storm hit, and well… we went under.” Your voice begins to break off. A shiver crawling down your spine at the recollection of the horrific incident. Water lines your weary eyes, but you blink back your tears before you can get caught up in your emotions. You rub at your eyes rather roughly, ignoring the boy’s intensive staring as you ask your question again. “There has to be some way to leave the island. Are there any boats? Any other survivors?” 

“There might be.” He stares straight into your skull. Almost as if he’s trying to search your thoughts with x-ray vision. Your agitation only seems to grow at his unclear answers. 

“Well, where are they? Can you take me to them?” Your voice grows frantic, clinging onto the frail piece of hope that there might be help for you. 

“What if I don’t want to tell you?” The strange boy seems to gain a sick sense of enjoyment watching you struggle. Your anger rises into your cheeks and a cherry blossom blush bleeds into your face. The boy has to hold back another taunt at the tip of his tongue. 

“What? Why not?!” 

“Why not? You ask too many questions, it’s starting to get on my nerves.” The boy rolls his eyes in irritation. He takes a step closer and you stare up at him through a shocked expression. Before you can yell out your annoyance and anger at his lack of sympathy, he shuts you up with some interesting information.

“And it doesn’t matter anyways, even if I wanted to help you, I wouldn’t be able to.” 

You ask your next question already dreading the answer, “And why’s that.”

“Because no one ever leaves.”

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